Acquittal
by MothAmongWhisperings
Summary: Post War, Hermione chooses to return to Hogwarts, along with Harry and Ron, to complete her 7th year. Nominated Head Girl opposite Draco Malfoy , Hermione and Draco both suffer to reconcile ghosts from their past with the emotional aftermath of the war, and their evolving identities and relationship. Rated M for strong language, violence, & possible sexual content
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

**Chapter 1: Back to the Beginning**

31,536,000, the number of seconds since I'd been at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 3,000. The number of lives lost in the war against Voldemort. 1. The number of days it had taken to flip my life upside down.

We all were dealing with the losses of the war, and the final battle, in our own ways. People considered me lucky. I was alive, my family was alive. At least, my birth family. But the family of friends I had built for myself? Fractured... broken.

Broken. That's how I felt some days, waking up to the awful realization that it was not a dream. They're really gone. Like a bomb sinking through the cavity of my chest, the grief consumes me all over again.

There are days I forget to grieve; blissful and short retreats. There are days I feel guilty for letting smiles back into my life; days I feel guilty when a single loss eclipses them all; days I forget the many, and grieve just one.

"Hermione! Wait up!"

Harry looks energized, his expression hopeful, though I can tell by the worn lines under his eyes he hasn't been getting much sleep either. In retrospect, Harry deals with loss better than most, I think to myself. A bitter seed in my conscious reminds me that he's had practice.

His hand grips my shoulder, tight enough to remind me there is feeling outside this eminent numbness. The slightly awkward embrace is comforting and supportive and I repay him with a small, tired smile.

"How was your summer?" Small talk is easy. Almost free.

"I saw the Dursleys." That's an answer in itself. Harry's voice doesn't convey the same bitterness or irritation I'd expected. He must have noticed my curiosity, because he voiced my concern. "It was... nice." The word sounds like a euphemism on his tongue. "I needed the closure."

That I understood. "Are the others almost here?" I feigned disinterest even though the nervous bundle in my stomach told me otherwise.

Harry's eyes flitted downwards to his watch, and a moment later, he snorted derisively. "Funny. I keep checking this watch for the time out of habit, but it doesn't work. It hasn't ever since..."

Harry read my expression and his laugh died with his awareness. His voice trailed to a soft murmur. "ever since it got blasted by a Death Eater... I'd chuck it, but it was a gift from Lupin..."

The silence weighed heavy between us as we gave this pregnant pause as tribute to the memories of Tonks and Lupin.

Harry broke the silence by answering my question. "You know them, they always run behind schedule."

I nodded and not-so subtly moved so his hand slid from my shoulder. Not in a defensive way, but rather as a sign to show I needed my space, both physically and emotionally.

The arrival of Luna and Neville gave Harry interesting conversation, and I was blissfully relieved of the task of filling in the awkward pauses. Neville chatted enthusiastically about the prospects of our 7th year, while Luna watched me out of her neon bedazzled spectacles.

I was considering contributing something to the conversation, before I seemed unsocial, when a sturdy pair of arms slipped low around my waist, pulling me against a burly frame.

My head rolled back against Ron's chest, amber honey curls spilling down across his torso as I met his sky blue eyes. He gave me a genuine if grim smile before planting a tender kiss on my forehead.

He buried his nose in my hair, inhaling my essence as I chuckled, his warm breath tickling my scalp. "'Mione." He whispered it reverently, like a prayer.

1. 2. 3. My heart thumped hard and fast and I forced it back. "I missed you," I confide in him, and he seems pleased by this, the egotist that he is.

Seemingly aware of his infatuation and rude neglect of his friends, Ron transitions into a more neutral position where I am tucked into his side, as he greets Harry, Neville, and Luna warmly.

Ginny's cart rolls through the brick wall moments later, and Harry strides off mid sentence to greet his girlfriend. I watch with interest, amazed at their wordless greeting, a very public and intimate embrace. They seemed oblivious to the crowds of people around them, caught up in their own world.

War does that to people, I conclude. You forget about what used to be important and begin to realize that the only guarantee is now, and it's best to capitalize on it.

* * *

After catching up, our group boarded and comfortably settled into a compartment, Ron, myself and Luna on one bench, and Harry, Ginny, and Neville across from us.

Harry and Ginny had barely surfaced for air, yet Neville seemed undisturbed, continuing his conversation with Luna about Herbology.

I lean against Ron, inexplicable exhaustion overwhelming my muscles as I yawn profusely. Watching Neville and Luna converse, I wonder, for not the first time, if there is a future between them. Familiarly, I start to see the lines being drawn, predestined from the start. Neville, the oddball outcast matures into a hero in his own right and ends up with Luna, the eccentric champion of individualism and patron of honesty and loyalty. Ginny, the athletic, talented, long neglected little sister is finally noticed and adored by her longtime crush, Harry... Harry... well, he's just Harry. The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, Triwizard Champion, Youngest Seeker in a Century, and Terminal Procrastinator.

I smirk at the thought. And of course, last but not least: Hermione Granger, the bookworm who finally grew into her looks and breaks out of the friend zone by snagging her best friend, Ron, the third and essential part of the Golden Trio. I pause and wonder exactly what qualifies Ron to be my soulmate.

He is funny, and before the war, that must've been why I loved him. I think some of that has left him, on account of the grief. I can't blame him for that, we've all changed. I think he will go back to his dynamic self in time, and I might even return to my overachieving, know it all, smarty pants self but right now, being a know it all takes too much energy.

I've just snuggled myself into a comfortable nook in Ron's side, when my bladder informs me of an urgent situation that no, cannot wait.

I let out a dramatic, irritated sigh as I sit up and rise. "Be right back, I'm going to make a run to the bathroom," I inform Ron, who is asking me with his expression why I've disrupted our comfortable cuddle.

I pause and halfway expect a "Wait a sec, I'll come with you!" from Luna or Ginny, as girl protocol dictates, but neither makes an offer. Ginny and Harry, like a pair of sea lions, seem to have run out of air and come to the surface for a break from their makeout to snuggle. Neville and Luna are chatting so animatedly, I hate to break it up.

I slide open the compartment door and step into the hall a bit shakily. I never quite got the hang of walking on a moving train.

Half stumbling, half dragging myself down the length of the hall, I hold on to the railing dearly while making my progression.

"Granger! What! The! Hell!"

I glance up to see what has warranted this angry address, and catch a view of a very angry looking Malfoy. It pleases me that he isn't having any more luck walking on the train than I am.

"Malfoy? Why are you here?" My voice lacks its usual contempt, as I'm generally flabbergasted to see him at all. Returning for a 7th year was optional for veterans of the Final Battle. The Ministry didn't really see a point in forcing so many students to readjust to school life, and they thought it would be best if everyone had the option to move forward.

Malfoy always held a sort of contempt for the school in general, and I couldn't imagine him wanting to be at Hogwarts if he didn't have to be.

He sneered at me with what I deemed an unnecessary display of viciousness. "A better question would be why on Earth didn't you report to the front car? I've had a bloody miserable time searching every contemptible cart on the whole bloody train looking for your sorry arse."

I didn't know what to say to this. "Er... sorry, what?"

Malfoy let out an exasperated sigh, shooting me a very Malfoy-esque glare. "Head Boy and Girl assignments! You were supposed to pick yours up in the front car! Dear god, please tell me the war hasn't made you an idiot Granger... I don't want to spend a whole year..."

Malfoy's stream of complaints ran on, pointing out my many defects. My mind was reeling. Head Girl? Me? But I wasn't even a real 7th year... I thought they'd leave that position to one of the younger students...

"Head Girl? But... what? We're not even technically students..."

Malfoy's ramble cut short. "You didn't even know? What have you been doing, hiding under a Mudblood rock all summer?"

1. 2. 3. Everything went blank. 

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***Author's Note***  
Hello Everyone! I hope you enjoyed this introduction to my story. Mostly this chapter is setting up the new, post-war dynamic between the Golden Trio and Hermione's general frame of mind beginning the story. I haven't written in quite a while (life gets busy and hectic), so I'm still searching for my niche where I can fully slide into the perspectives of the characters and really wreak havoc ;) So you'll have to be patient with me as far as grammar goes. I'm a long time "3rd person" writer, so I find myself accidentally referring to Hermione as "she" when I should use "I".

The description is pretty short, so basically my pretense for this story is revolving around each character's struggle to readjust to civilian, student life following the war, and how Hermione in particular conflicts with trying to return to the girl she was, while coping with the emotional and mental aftermath of loss and trauma. If you're confused about the Ron/Hermione situation, and how this is a Dramione fic, it starts out HermioneXRon, but evolves from there. The whole Draco/Hermione Head Girl/Boy theme has been covered a lot in fanfiction, but I'm hoping I'll bring a new light to the psychological aspect of their experience by really illuminating the effect of war on the human mind, with elements of survivor's guilt, PTSD, depression, OCD, and more.

Thank you again for showing an interest and reading! I would absolutely LOVE feedback and comments (whether it be positive, or constructive), so yeah, please read and review!

PS. I have a question for the readers; would you like to see this story continued as Hermione's perspective, or would you welcome intermittent chapters from Draco's first person perspective?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

**Chapter 2: A New Leaf**

"Bloody Hell Granger, are you insane!" Ernie Fletcher had his hands restraining my arms behind my back. I blinked a few times, the bright lights blinding me.

My vision slowly fell into focus as I realized what the white blob in front of me was. Malfoy was leaned against the hall wall across from me, two eyebrows singed black and smoking a little. Colin Creevey had confiscated Malfoy's wand, which was a good thing, because by the look of utmost hatred Malfoy was shooting me, I don't doubt he wanted to and would use a few Unforgivables.

"What were you thinking, using a curse on a moving train Hermione! Malfoy is a snitch, but you could get into a lot of trouble! Aren't you Head Girl this year?" Ernie spoke as if he thought I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had.

Slowly I regained use of my mental functions. The last thing I remembered coherently was counting my breaths to calm myself down. That's usually how I came down from the high of a panic attack.

It kind of scared me that Malfoy was able to incite me to such rage that I'd quite literally lose control of my mind. I wasn't known to be irrational or reckless. Ron did quite enough of that for the two of us.

"Fucking crazy bitch, she could have blinded me," Malfoy spat, shooting me another dirty look.

With all the threatening menace I could muster, I yanked out of Ernie's hold and stepped into Malfoy's space. I garnished a smidge of satisfaction as he backed up a little, and I could almost swear, flinched.

The moment would have been intimate, our eyes even, mouths a few inches apart, if not for the rolling vehemence seeping out of our combined auras. You could feel the loathing, as if it were a tangible, physical manifestation.

"Don't ever call me a Mudblood again."

Malfoy saw something dark in my eyes, something that was wholly un-Hermione, a product of war and hardship and loss. I was not the doe-eyed Gryffindor who cried at a few comments or crippled under his malice. He saw something he decided not to reckon with.

As I backed away from him, his face shook the look of surprise to be replaced with a signature sneer.

"Fuck this, I don't need to deal with this shit." Malfoy grabbed his wand from Colin, and turned to stalk back down the hallway. Without turning around, he yelled back, "Get your Head Girl crap on your own, I'm doing my own rounds."

My lips pursed in distaste. Leave it to a Malfoy to abandon his duties on a personal whim. Typical coward.

* * *

I managed to convince Ernie and Colin of my physical and mental health before they let me find McGonagall's compartment on my own.

When I reached the front of the train, I knocked lightly on the compartment door, which slid open to reveal a much larger space than I anticipated. I admired the craftsmanship of the room, similar to the bag I'd used on our quest for Horcrux's but on a much larger scale.

McGonagall sat at a high back chair, pouring over a stack of papers. She glanced up over the tip of her glasses to take in my slightly unkempt appearance.

The warmth and pride that spread over her face ballooned my self esteem hugely. "Miss Granger! I'm glad to find you well! I would stand to greet you, but my back will not permit it; remnants of the Last Battle, you see," she explained, rubbing her lower back with the palm of her hand. "Still, I can't complain, I'm still alive and well, and tortured by unruly students."

I shared a smile with her over the mischief of young witches and wizards. "I assume you're here for your Head Girl duties? I was concerned when you didn't report to me initially, and thought you might be apparating into Hogsmeade instead of arriving by train. I sent Draco to look for you, did he find you?"

"No, I must have missed him," I lied, feeling only slightly guilty. I didn't want her to think I'd already been fighting with the Head Boy.

McGonagall shook her head. "Lazy boy, no doubt he's tucked into a compartment with his Slytherin cronies. I wish you the best of luck working with him this year Hermione, it will not be an easy task."

The realization began to sink in. My last year at Hogwarts partnered with my childhood tormentor, and long time nemesis. I groaned audibly, not looking forward to the prospect.

"Now, Now Hermione... it isn't all bad... I wouldn't have chosen you for the task if I didn't think you were up to a little, compromising. You're my most diplomatic student." McGonagall informed me, beaming like a proud mother.

I was humbled by the compliment, but still confused. "Thank you professor, but... If you don't mind me asking, why Malfoy?" I was blunt and came right out and said it.

McGonagall chuckled. "Yes, I thought you'd have questions about that." My raised eyebrow egged her on. "You see, the last two years have created a vast division between the houses, pitting Slytherin against the remaining three. The school will never be able to function with our student body so polarized. If our campus is to heal and move forward, we need to forgive old wounds, and begin to unite our students, regardless of House."

I remained quiet, but unconvinced of this new, 'Hug a Slytherin' campaign. "So... how does Malfoy come in?"

McGonagall nodded and continued. "You see, by putting the two of you together, you, a member of the Golden Trio and a Muggleborn, with Malfoy, a Death Eater legacy, and Voldemort supporter, your relationship represents the extremity of the divide I seek to bridge. My thoughts are, if the two of you can overcome your pasts and work together on peaceful terms, and set the example for the rest of campus, other students will follow suit."

I began to object adamantly that I was not about to make Malfoy my new best friend, under any circumstance when McGonagall quickly interjected. "I'm not asking you to be friends. I'm asking you to be professional, and cordial, and put aside the hate you both fostered before the war, to set an example that will help heal our school."

I couldn't exactly argue with that. Her instructions had left a bitter taste in my mouth however, and left me with a nagging sense of guilt about cursing Malfoy in the hall. I considered confessing this to her, but decided not to disappoint her.

"Does Malfoy know?" If he did, he hadn't done a good job of letting "bygones be bygones" earlier.

"No, Malfoy is a proud, vain boy. He wouldn't have accepted the position as Head Boy if he thought he received it in order to set an example. He wants it as proof he's beat out Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasely."

I snorted. "Oh yes he would have. He would have accepted the position solely so he could lord the power over everyone and terrify the underclassmen."

McGonagall held a reserved smile. "You might not know Mr. Malfoy as well as you think. He might surprise you."

I shrugged, thinking to myself that the only way Malfoy could surprise me would be with a swift Hexing Charm in the back.

"So what are my duties? Malfoy said something about rounds?"

McGonagall had returned to shuffling her papers, and looked up. "Oh, that? I gave Malfoy the full load to keep him busy, you're free to return to your cart and enjoy the train ride. I suggest you get some rest, when we arrive you'll need to help guide the 1st years and direct traffic, and then after dinner, lead students to the dormitory with the new password."

I was leaving the enlarged compartment, enjoying the tidbit of information that Malfoy would spend the remaining 6 hours of travel monitoring the halls while I enjoyed time with my friends, relishing in the unfairness of it and thinking maybe this year wouldn't be so bad after all, when I remembered something. "What is the password?"

McGonagall didn't look up. "Ignasco." I paused, smirking at my favorite professor's sense of twisted humor. She didn't need to tell me: it was latin and meant 'to forgive."

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A/N: Wow, I'm overwhelmed by the number of views this fic has gotten in just a day! So blessed by the support from you guys 3 Hope you guys are enjoying it so far, and please remember to review! :)

So this chapter basically sets up the situation for the year, and the reason Hermione and Draco come in close contact. If McGonagall sounds a little out of character (with the whole, unite the houses - Dumbledore-eque reasoning), that's probably a valid point. McGonagall would most likely retain her opinion of Draco as a slimy git and be glad to see the Slytherin's go. However, I didn't want to alter the course of the first 7 books by bringing Dumbledore back, and healing war wounds seemed the most logical reason for Hermione and Draco to be forced to work together, so you'll have to suspend your disbelief as far as McGonagall sponsoring this, and bear with me for a bit.

I'm still on the edge about including chapters from Draco's POV, so let me know if you'd be interested in his perspective as well.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

Chapter 3: Body snatchers

As I stepped into my compartment, Ron and Harry rose abruptly. I glanced around the compartment, surprised to see Neville and Luna missing.

"Hermione! Where have you been?" Ron's voice bordered on hysteria, his worried eyes searching mine adamantly.

Realization dawned on me. I had left to use the bathroom and hadn't returned for over an hour, giving my friends enough cause for concern. As explanation, I withdrew my shiny bronze Head Girl badge from my pocket and put it on display.

Harry was the first to clap me on the back, a wide, genuine smile beaming across his face. "Well done 'Mione! Merlin knows you've earned it!" He pulled me into a warm hug, and it felt nice, until I looked up from over Harry's shoulder and caught Ron's semi-confused, semi-dreading glance.

Harry released me, and turned to look at Ron quizzically. "Isn't that great Ron...?" Harry seemed equally dumbfounded by his friend's silence.

Ron nodded noncommittally, giving me a half hug at Harry's prodding. We all sat, and Ron stared into his hands, working up the courage to share what was on his mind.

Barely daring to glance up, Ron muttered just loud enough for me to hear, "Who got Head Boy?"

Ron's wistful, bitter tone enlightened me about the reason behind his strange behavior. I squirmed uncomfortably under the spotlight, my mind racing for a way to word the bad news in a casual way in order to downplay its significance.

"Head Boy? Oh, you know, Malfoy... I expected as much..." my tone sounded laissez-faire, as I shrugged, pretending not to care one way or the other.

Nervously, I glanced up at Ron's expression and saw all of the muscles in his body had tensed up, a prominent vein in his forehead protruding largely from his tension. His mouth opened several times, as he made several attempts to put words to a feeling he couldn't quite wrap his head around. It finally exploded out of him, like a bullet from a gun, unable to contain the pressure any longer.

"MALFOY? WHAT THE FUCK!" Ron's use of profanity and volume caused me to flinch, uncomfortable that the brunt of his rant was directed towards me. "HE'S A BLOODY DEATH EATER, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE! THE SLIMY GIT, HE TRIED TO KILLED DUMBLEDORE, AND GETS NAMED HEAD FUCKING BOY?"

Ron's hands were clamped so tightly around his wand that I was afraid it would break. "Ron, please, calm down, the professors are going to hear you!" I put a hand on his shoulder and tried to soothe his temper, but he shoved me away. Ginny, startled by the noise, awoke from her curled up position next to the window, groggy and confused.

"LET THEM BLOODY WELL HEAR! I'D SOONER DROP OUT THAN SPEND A YEAR AT A SCHOOL WITH MALFOY AS THE BLOODY HEAD BOY!"

Harry joined in, pushing down on Ron's shoulders to force him to sit back down. Ginny, apparently unable, or unwilling to tolerate her brother's tantrum exited into the hall, making excuses about going to look for Neville and Luna.

"Ron, mate, you're making a scene. I'm sure McGonagall had good reasons for her choice, right Hermione?" Harry's green spectacled eyes implored me to use the magic of my logic to calm Ron down. I snorted from the irony. When had my logic ever talked either of them out of idiocy? But Harry's eyes were so pleading, and I couldn't stand to watch Ron so out of sorts, that I consented.

"Harry's right. McGonagall explained the reason she chose Malfoy was to help unify the student body." My voice sounded weaker and less convincing than I'd willed it to be. "She... she thought if Malfoy and I could reconcile our differences and learn to work together, it would set the example and help blur House divisions."

It seemed to work, Ron's face returned to its pale past coloring from the lobster red shade it had adopted. His muscles relaxed and his face went blank.

I had just let out a small breath of relief I hadn't realized I was withholding, when in the coolest, cruelest voice I had ever heard Ronald Weasely speak in, he turned to me and asked, "Did McGonagall ask you to fuck Malfoy too?"

It felt like a slap, and the air sucked out of my lungs before I could protest.

Harry beat me to my defense, punching Ron hard in the shoulder to knock some sense into him. "Ron! What's the matter with you, mate?"

I was reeling from Ron's implications, befuddled why his anger had turned onto me. It wasn't my fault Malfoy was Head Boy! I was the one who was going to have to suffer through his wretched company all year, why was Ron being a complete arse?

"Would that 'blur House divisions' if you fucked him, Hermione? Would it 'unify the student body' if you fucked Malfoy and ran around with little Death Eater-Dentist babies?" Ron demanded, the volume and accusation in his voice slowly rising.

I was losing control of my composure. I felt the slight quiver in my lower lip, the fiery red hot tears scalding my eyes and the thick, parchment of my throat choking back a sob, as Ron's hurtful words slammed into me again and again in my head.

Harry's jaw dropped in shock at Ron's expletives, staring for all the world like he didn't recognize his best friend.

I sprang up, stepping out of the compartment and slamming the door shut behind me, escaping before I could give Ronald Weasely the satisfaction of my tears.

As I sank down onto an empty bench near the caboose, a few unruly sobs wracked my chest, as I cursed the bodysnatchers who had stolen my best friend and replaced him with a jealous bastard.

* * *

A/N: And here is where the seed is planted! This is the beginning of Ron's transformation as a little green monster begins to consume him. Jo did a pretty great job of manifesting that jealousy in the original series, with the Horcrux showing Ron's fears and suspicions about Harry/Hermione, and this is really my continuation on that character trait. I found it a bit unrealistic that Ron could struggle with inferiority issues for years and harbor possessiveness and jealousy over Hermione, and then that all just disappear. So, this is my development of that story line. Hope you enjoyed, and please remember to read and review! lots of love! :)


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

**Chapter 4: Old Habits Die Hard**

I had never seen so many first years in my life. They came in droves, a sea of pre-teens, looking as lost and hopeless as orphaned puppies. With a great deal of difficulty, and the help of the prefects, we managed to herd the newcomers to the dock with Hagrid and the boats, helping them climb aboard with shaky legs.

I was absolutely certain that I had never been so small, or so frightened, even as a first year. The war always made me feel old, and meeting these new students who had yet to experience life and the wizarding world both filled me with a sense of regret and of great hope. I glanced around, looking for Malfoy. Hagrid led the procession and the Head Girl and Boy were supposed to ride in the last boat and follow the group of boats in case anyone fell overboard.

Malfoy was sulking, leaning against the entrance to the dock, glaring at the first years with a mixture of contempt. As I approached, he gave me a similar glance, his eyes scanning from my muddy shoes to my disheveled outfit, up to my wildly curly hair, standing out at all angles thanks to the static in the cool autumn air.

"Have a good romp with a troll, Granger?" The sight lent a smirk to his arrogant expression.

"Pansy's not really my type," I quipped back, striking a jab at his would-be girlfriend.

His eyes narrowed defensively, a much filthier insult no doubt lingering on the tip of his tongue, however, our pleasantries were cut short by Hagrid's booming voice.

"Firs' years, mind the sides, here we go!" The fleet began gliding along the silken glass of the lake, our boat included.

"God damn it Malfoy! Get your arse on the boat!" I took leaping steps down the dock, grabbing the back of our boat just before it got out of reach. The boats were enchanted to leave all at once, and it took all the strength in my arms to hold it long enough to haul my body into the belly of the boat as it rocked violently, lake water spraying over the sides onto my uniform.

I tumbled into my seat unceremoniously, heaving from the exertion as I looked up to see if Malfoy was coming.

He stood at the dock, lips pursed in disapproval, as he withdrew his wand. I was too far now to hear his incantation, but a moment later, hard ice stretched out through the water, following the boat. Cool as a cucumber, Malfoy strode down the icy path, boarding the boat with his nose scrunched up with distaste.

As he sat down at the opposite end of the boat from me, the ice behind him crumbled and melted into the water, leaving no trace of his path.

I could hardly stand to look at his smugness; Malfoy exuded a superiority complex. I snorted, laughing under my breath. Fucking Malfoy. The idiot thinks he can walk on water.

He turned around to watch the first years. Apparently even the sight of me was beneath him. After a few minutes, I could hear him complaining venomously. "...the whole lot of them, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors to the bone." At this he spit into the lake, in contempt. "Worthless little shites. I bet there isn't a Slytherin among them."

I snorted. "We should be so lucky." Malfoy spun around. He evidently had not intended his derision to reach my ears, and my amusement put him in a sour mood.

"What are you smirking about, you filthy little Mudblood? As if you're any better. Tell me, exactly what did you contribute to the war, other than being Weasely's fuck buddy? Or was it Potter's? I forget, seeing as you're such a disgusting little bint." He cocked his head to the side, inspecting me with revulsion.

I felt my blood begin to boil; he had hit more than a few of my triggers. It nestled under my skin and pierced into my heart at the mere mention. I could swear the scars Bellatrix had left on my arm prickled when I heard that slur, my hair standing on end, and my eyes began to see red at his callous mention of Harry and Ron.

The entire wizarding world hadn't fought a war, losing thousands of capable witches and wizards, defending against Voldemort and his prejudices, for this prick to throw around his elitist, purist trash talk like his shit didn't stink. People had died trying to eliminate those biases! Didn't that mean anything to Malfoy? After everything that had happened, how could he still believe Voldemort's philosophy? How could he still believe his blood was any different or better?

I hadn't realized I was holding my wand until I saw it pointing in Malfoy's direction.

"Would you like me to spill some of your blood, to see how similar it really is?" My voice was full of no-nonsense, my eyes burning deadly amber fire.

Malfoy had apparently taken too many hits to his pride today, being threatened by a Muggle born. At my threat, he stood, looming over me as if his mere height should leave me shaking in my boots.

"I don't think you're in any position to be making threats, Granger." Malfoy's face was expressionless, but I saw the glint of danger flash under his steely eyes.

I knew it was a bad idea to provoke him. I recognized the underlying seriousness of his threat, and my logic told me to shut my mouth and make it to shore in one piece.

But damn my logic, he was infuriating. "Or what Malfoy? Are you going to tattle on me to your good for nothing, Death Eater daddy?"

Malfoy lunged, acting too fast for me to respond, gripping the collar of my cardigan. As I was hoisted into the air, I shouted in protest, my legs flailing to touch the floor of the boat, my hands fighting to pull Malfoy off.

"Oomph!" Malfoy let out a winded gasp. I smirked in satisfaction, seeing one of my kicks hit low on his stomach, knocking the air out of him. My satisfaction was short lived however, as Malfoy tenses up, and then flings me aside angrily, a stream of curses assaulting my ears.

My orientation was thrown, and the last thing I saw before plunging into the icy cold water was the glitter sprinkling of stars across the velvety black sky.

* * *

A/N: A short chapter, I know, but I'm addicted to cliff-hangers, so I thought it best to cut off here. This chapter is mostly establishing the existing aversion between Hermione and Draco that has outlasted the war. They still can't stand each other, they still get under each other's skin. Every good relationship has to start somewhere, right? LOL. Hope you guys are enjoying, and I'd love for more people to read and review :) thanks guys!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Balance of Power**

The water was frigidly cold, enveloping my body in an icy chill as my muscles sunk into shock from the hostile environment. I floated to the surface, sputtering and cursing Malfoy in a range of expletives I can't say I'm proud of.

When I'd succeeded in sucking a sufficient amount of air into my lungs, I looked around, turning and seeing the boat floating towards the shore, 4-5 meters away.

Malfoy was staring at me with mixed parts satisfaction and hilarity, holding back a laugh behind his signature smirk.

"Malfoy, so help me, if you do not get me back on that boat, 100 points from Slytherin!" The threat was empty, the class Heads didn't have the authority to deduct points from one another, but since Malfoy shirked most of his Head Boy duties, I doubt he'd read the fine print.

Malfoy twirled his wand nonchalantly, frustrating me to a greater extent. "In that case, 100 points from Gryffindor for your smart mouth. Say hello to the Giant Squid for me!" Malfoy turned around, his back facing me to emphasize his point.

Call it power of suggestion, but his mention of the Giant Squid made me hyper conscious of anything floating in the water around me. "Malfoy! This isn't funny! I can't swim!" I meant to sound commanding, but the fear in my voice leaked through, mixing into a strangled hysteria. It was taking all the strength in my legs to keep me bobbing above water with the weight of my robes dragging me down. I tried a few strokes with my arms but I was going nowhere; the current across the lake was too strong.

Malfoy's sneer widened in elation. I could tell how much joy he was getting out of lording this power over me. "Fine, but you take all the shifts for patrol this semester."

That mischievous little shite! On one hand, doing all of the patrols by myself would hugely cut into my study time, but on the other hand, it was horribly cold, it would take me hours to float ashore, and every piece of debris in the lake running past my legs felt like the tentacles on some massive sea monster.

I scowled, hating Malfoy for being such a prat. "Just get me out of here!" I consented resentfully.

Malfoy pointed his wand at the water and cast his ice charm out to meet me. "Climb on and walk back to the boat, that is, if you can," he mocked, igniting my irritation further.

My eyes narrowed but I bit back my retort. I would save my revenge for Malfoy for a time when I wasn't floating up and down in the middle of the black lake like a buoy with no one to help me but a slimy Malfoy.

I made several attempts to haul myself up onto the ice, and failed, much to Malfoy's delight. I cursed under my breath, struggling. The weight of my robes was too much, and bitterly I pulled them off, watching them float down into the water. Without the excess weight I was able to haul myself up onto the thick layer of ice, breathing heavily.

I stood cautiously, and began walking briskly back to the boat before the ice could begin to crack. 5 meters from the boat, I lost my balance on a slick expanse of ice, tumbling backwards and sliding on my bum. Malfoy chortled happily from the boat, enjoying the view as I scrambled to stand and fell again. I cursed Malfoy internally, swearing, some way, somehow, I was going to make the little prat pay.

Finally, I reached the boat and sank into it, resigned, and exhausted. I was soaked through and without my robes, it was uncomfortably cold. I glanced over at Malfoy, draped in his thick fur lined robes. He saw the direction of my gaze, and his smile widened from ear to ear, as he wrapped himself tighter into his coat.

"Nice weather tonight, isn't it?" he mocked me, the blustery winds sending goosebumps up my bared arms and legs.

I didn't dignify his provocation with a response. The stupid jerk. Not like I expected him to be a gentleman and offer me his robes, I mean, this was Malfoy we're talking about. Instead, I hugged my knees to my chest to conserve body heat, and thanked my lucky stars that I could see the shore clearly in the distance.

* * *

As we landed on the shore, Malfoy, impatient to eat no doubt, offered to walk the first years to the castle, while I stayed behind to check that all the boats were tied down. I was freezing cold, and would have liked nothing more than to step into the warmth of the Great Hall, but I wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction of my weakness.

15 minutes later, thoroughly chilled through, I began the trek up to the entry of the castle. I was tired and the long sloping hill was not my friend. Nearly headless Nick greeted me as I entered the castle, and I sighed in relief as the warmth rushed over me.

" , such a pleasure! For a moment, you looked so pale, I almost thought you were a ghost!" Nick chortled to himself at his joke, floating off through the painting of Bernadette the Benevolent.

I grimaced to myself. It had been one of those kinds of nights. I opened the doors to the Great Hall, preparing to be absorbed by the chatter and excitement of pre-feast socializing, but the shocking wave of silence that hit me as the doors creaked open loudly immediately told me otherwise.

Standing in the entrance of the Great Hall, soaking wet and leaving a puddle where I stood with all the students silent as church mice while Headmistress McGonagall paused mid speech, a deep crimson flush climbed up my neck to my cheeks until I knew I was beet red and extremely sheepish. McGonagall gave me a curt nod, looking concerned and bewildered as I ducked my head to hide my embarrassment, shuffling quickly to the seat Harry and Ron had saved for me.

As I walked briskly, the wet rubber soles of my shoes made intolerably loud squeaking noises, eliciting more than a few giggles from 2nd and 3rd years. As soon as I sat, McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Yes, well... now that we are all here..." she shot a pointed look at me, to which I responded by staring very intently at the wood pattern on the table in front of me. Harry, Ginny, and Ron threw me curious and questioning looks, but I shook my head, motioning to Harry and Ginny that I'd explain during the feast. I still wasn't ready to talk to Ron after the way he'd talked to me on the train, which wouldn't be a problem, because Ron forgets about everyone around him as soon as there is food on his plate.

As McGonagall continued her speech on the importance of house unity and cooperation in order to heal from the horrors of war, my head sunk into my arms folded atop the table, hiding from the curious eyes surrounding me, all asking the same questions. I could feel the headache coming on already, and I hadn't even survived my first day as Head Girl yet.

* * *

A/N: Another quick little chapter :) I'm trying to power through 1-2 chapters a day while I have ideas so I can keep the material coming. This also means I will probably follow the format of many small chapters, frequently, as opposed to long chapters every once in a while. Let me know what you guys think, and most of all, thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

**Chapter 6: An Awkward Arrival**

The golden platters clattered noisily as food appeared before us. My hungry eyes fell across treacle and brisket and a delicious looking souffle. I reached for a serving of stuffing, sawing off a slice of turkey meat, the intoxicating smells reminding my body that this would be my first meal of the day.

I had scarcely taken my first heavenly bites, the sound of my grumbling intestines resembling an angry honey badger, when Harry started in on the questioning.

"What happened Hermione? Why'd you come in late, soaking wet?" Ginny's expression mirrored Harry's question, and even though I love my friends, I rolled my eyes, wishing they weren't so interfering.

I give Ron a pointed glare, watching with mild revulsion as he proceeds to shove not one, or two, but three pastries into his mouth simultaneously, the jelly filled centers leaking down the corner of his mouth to his pale, freckled chin. My expression makes it vividly clear that I won't be discussing anything in front of my foul tempered, inexcusable excuse of a best friend.

It takes Ron a few good minutes to realize our conversation has ended and all of our eyes are focused on him, mine expectantly, and Harry and Ginny's encouraging.

He wipes his chin off sheepishly, turning on the charm in his baby blue eyes as he solicits me. "'Mione..." My determination falters. He whines my nickname tenderly and pleadingly, striking that vulnerable cord within me that struggles to resist him. I keep eye contact, berating myself for my weak thoughts of giving in so soon. Ron's anger was inappropriate and unfairly aimed at me, like so many other times. He owed me respect as a friend, and I couldn't forgive him until he fixed that score.

I wait patiently, expecting something more coherent to come out of his mouth.

Ron fiddles with his fingers, forming the words in his head. As he looks up again, ready to speak, he grips my hand that was resting on the table, an action that serves to make me uncomfortable. His palms are sweaty, and he grips my hand tightly, as if he was trying to ensure I wouldn't leave.

"I'm sorry 'Mione, I don't know what came over me... I just... Malfoy makes me so angry sometimes!" Ron seems sincere but I remain skeptical. Yes, he was sorry, I could see the genuinity of the regret in his eyes, but it was still a pretty shoddy effort. Ron still wasn't claiming responsibility for his anger, he was shuttling the blame onto Malfoy. Ron acted as though he had no choice but to blow up every time Malfoy provoked him, not giving any thought to his own self restraint or control.

I sighed, too tired to listen to Ron's spirited detailing of Malfoy's many flaws.

"... it's not like I thought you'd actually screw Malfoy." My eyes dart up to Ron's face, silencing him with an angry scowl. I'm shocked he would dare to repeat the sentiment that had landed him on my bad list in the first place.

For the second time tonight, I groaned internally, cursing the twisted law of fate that causes a entire room to go quiet when you least wanted it to. It felt like everyone in the entire room had heard Ron's flippant mention of Malfoy and I screwing, and my stomach tumbled as I began to predict what the rumour mill would be turning out come morning.

Ron meant no harm, but his oblivious blunders combined with my crummy evening to put me in an extremely short temper.

"The sooner you stop blaming your irrationality on your surroundings, and you take accountability for behaving like an enormous arse, the better. Your friends deserve better Ron, and I'm fed up with it."

Ron proceeded to look very confused, and shot Harry a bewildered glance. Harry shrugged back at him and absorbed his attention on the food in front of him. We didn't talk a whole lot after that.

At the end of the meal, Headmistress McGonagall stood to conclude the feast, calling the attention of over a thousand bustling students.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I trust you all enjoyed the feast?" The hall responded in a roar of appreciation, bringing a smile to the elderly witch's face. "Very good. Third through 7th years, please follow the prefects to your dorm. First years will be attended by the Head Girl and Boy. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, you will follow Ms. Hermione Granger."

McGonagall motioned for me to stand, so I did, waving to the group of students I'd be herding.

"Slytherin and Ravenclaw first years, you will follow Mr. Malfoy." Malfoy stood in acknowledgement, looking bored and apathetic. " , , please report to my office after all the students have reached the dorms," she addressed us, and my shoulders slumped. I was tired, wet, and had a very warm, full stomach. I craved changing into a set of warm flannel pajamas and cuddling into my comfortable bed. I began to suspect that the duties of Head Girl were outweighing the perks.

To the rest of the students, McGonagall addressed, "You are dismissed! Please remember, magic is not permitted in the halls and classes start Monday, 8AM sharp."

At this allowance, a massive movement of swishing cloaks and shuffling feet pushed through the grand oak doors. It was a nightmare trying to find all the first years and keep them in one group. Once I'd gathered them into a small troop, I waited back behind the crowd. The first years always did like to admire the moving staircase and pictures, especially the muggle borns who'd never seen a moving painting, and I knew conducting a small tour would be easier to do once the older students were out of the way.

Leaning against the tables, I contented myself with rehearsing my schedule for the next few days in my head, memorizing my agenda and tasks. It was going to be a long year, I could feel it already.

A prickle at the nape of my neck caused me to scan the room, unable to deny the vague feeling I was being watched. Near the podiums, I caught the pair of eyes boring through me, icy cold steel set on a pale face hooded by unkempt strands of platinum blonde hair. Draco Malfoy was staring through me, trying to impale me with the burning fury in his eyes.

I shot him a confused glance. What in Merlin's name had I done to piss off the little ferret now?

* * *

A/N: Things with Ron are starting to approach the breaking point... haha. Ron was actually the piece I struggled the most to write in this chapter. I mean, Ron eats a lot of food, it's kind of his signature action. But I didn't want to make it too overblown and cliche... hopefully I was somewhat successful in that endeavor. Thank you for all the support you guys have given me! I figured out how to use Traffic Stats, and was amazed to see that _Acquittal_ has had readers from 16 countries! One of my favorite aspects of Harry Potter was how the story and characters JKR created were able to unite readers all over the world to share in something truly magical, so I was so flattered to find out I've gotten positive response from an international following! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story so far, I promise, there will be more Draco x Hermione action shortly and remember to review and keep being awesome!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

A/N: This chapter is longer than the usual, because it includes POVs from both Draco and Hermione, so enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 7: Flashbacks  
**

**Hermione POV**

I shook the paranoia from my thoughts, choosing to ignore Malfoy's unwarranted reaction. His whims were the least of my concerns.

Herding the first years turned out to be a colossus of a task, seeing everything for the first time, their young eyes widened in amazement at Hogwart's many wonders. I drop the Hufflepuffs off first since their dorms were closest to the Great Hall, before shuttling the Gryffindor's up the winding staircase.

The walk fills me with dread, memories of the Final Battle for Hogwarts flooding my memory as my senses absorb the sights around me. My muscles tense in response, the familiar sights so closely linked to the horrors of the past that they cause an immediate, visceral response from my body. My hands clench at my sides, and irrational crescendo of fear and stress rising through my body.

I close my eyes, breathing deeply and forcing myself to calm down, a ritual that has become common these past few months. Slowly, the feelings lessened, but the sense of unease remained. It was harder here, where it had all happened, to control my emotions. The newly refurbished walls and floors and columns were piles of rubble in my mind, the lively bodies walking the halls, corpses and the injured strewn across the castle, the bubbly laughter, horrified screams.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I hurry the first years towards the portrait of the Fat Lady, quickly showing them to their dorms. Several older students greet me merrily on my way out, but I don't return the friendly conversation.

Once out of the portrait hole, I find myself rushing down the hall, and to match the erratic beating of my heart, I begin to sprint, my feet like wings flying over the stone floors. I feel out of control, I feel everything falling apart around me, I race, trying to escape, but escape what?

Nothing made any sense, I knew the war was over, I knew I should feel safe here, but I couldn't suppress the terrifying wash of fear that consumed me. It had no name, no reason, only impenetrable strength.

Run, run, run... it was the only impulse my mind could muster. I knew it wouldn't help, you ran to escape something physical, I couldn't run to escape the thoughts in my head.

"Hermione?" Neville called out to me from a nearby alcove, concerned. I don't stop, not really hearing his voice. I'm in my own illusion now and it's slowly consuming me.

The ghosts of green lights were flashing in my eyes, red sparks and blasts of hexes flying past, the powerful drive of adrenaline in my veins. A deep chaotic rumble of screaming voices, and yelling incantations submerged me. Run, duck, or you'll die. Wet tears I can't prevent stung in my eyes.

"Granger?" a familiar voice yelled behind me. The voice registered in my head, and spiked my beating heart. I chanced whipping my head around to see my pursuer briefly.

Dark cloak, sallow face. Death Eater.

Oh Merlin, Merlin no, no, no, no, no. I cried harder. Faster, Hermione, smartest witch of your age, can't you do anything right?

A hex hits me in the back of the legs a I stumble forward, skidding onto the floor. My still damp clothes cause me to slide a few feet on the hardwood floor. My heart is hammering out of my chest, my body immobile from the hex.

Footsteps draw nearer, clicking on the hard floor, growing louder and louder. I quake in terror. Anger rushes through my mind. Show some backbone, I tell my self, have some dignity.

But my body doesn't listen. I don't want to die, I don't want to be tortured.

A rough hand lifts my chin, and then, gripping my shoulder, draws me to my feet. I'm vaguely aware of lips moving and words coming out, but a grinding roar in my ears drowns everything out as I wait for the inevitable.

* * *

**Draco POV**

Strolling up the winding path to the castle, I eagerly deposit the herd of first years with McGonagall, making my way to the Slytherin table.

I scan the length of the room for any of the old crew, but don't find any familiar faces. With Crabbe dead, Goyle in prison, and Pansy engaged, I feel very solitary.

I'm about to resign myself to sitting alone for the first time in my educational experience, when I spot a large brown hand waving me down. I match it to the mischievously grinning face of one of my good friends, Blaise Zabini.

"Draco! Lost a bet that you'd show your sorry arse," Blaise joked, scooting to the side. A very pretty 5th year Ravenclaw is practically sitting on his lap, enamored by his very presence. I roll my eyes. We hadn't even started the school year for Merlin's sake!

Blaise always did have a way with women. Not that I didn't have my share, but Blaise was a little bit... looser in his standards. He'd bedded Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs alike. The rumor mill even whispered that he'd shared a night with the She-Weasel before the war. I couldn't confirm or deny these rumors, Blaise always was very secretive about his goings about, and I didn't care to pry.

The thought of anyone lowering themselves to sleep with a blood traitor Gryffindor... The thought made me shudder in disgust. The selection of girls in Slytherin might not be very diverse, but it was enough. As I glanced around the table, I saw many of the gawky 5th and 6th years had apparently learned how to properly groom themselves, and a few were even quite pretty.

I smiled smugly to myself. This year would not be without more than a few conquests, and I mulled over the prospects contently in my head, glad that my return to Hogwarts wasn't a complete waste.

I picked at my food absentmindedly, for not the first time, wistfully craving the cuisine from home. Hogwarts' standards always were lower. I'd heard the house-elves who worked in the kitchens had all been freed. I snorted derisively at the thought. A free elf doesn't do half as good a job as an enslaved one.

My musings were interrupted by a muted silence and then a noisy chatter of giggles and gossip. I cock my head to the side, trying to hear what had caused the ruckus.

"Hermione Granger? The war hero? Doing what with Malfoy?"

"What does that have to do with her interrupting the feast, sopping wet?"

My head spins around as I narrow down the voices to a cluster of 5th year Ravenclaws, speaking in what they believe to be hushed tones. I'm about to storm over and find out why on Earth my name was being put into the same sentence as that Mudblood when I hear a similar exclamation from further down the Hufflepuff table, and then again among a few 3rd year Slytherins.

By this time, I am positively livid. What in Merlin's name was going on around here? Had the entire world turned upside down?

I nudge Blaise, interrupting his exploration of the 5th year's mouth as I duck my head, whispering in low tones. "Blaise, ask your girlfriend to go ask those 5th years what they were talking about." I point to the cluster of them.

Apparently I hadn't whispered softly enough, because the Ravenclaw heard me, straightening up proudly on Blaise's lap, her smile beaming like she'd just won the Quidditch Cup. Blaise swiftly kicked my shin, causing me to curse internally as he shot me a glare.

For a moment I thought he might deny me, but with a roll of his eyes, he passed the request on to the girl, and she scooted off, proud as a god damn peacock.

Once she was out of sight, Blaise kicked me again, harder, and this time, my swear was audible.

"Goblin's Crotch, what was that about?" I accuse Blaise irritably, rubbing my shin tenderly.

Blaise's eyes narrow. "We NEVER use the "g" word in front of girls, Malfoy, you know that!" He meant girlfriend of course, and the realization dawns on me. Blaise shoves my shoulder, his brow furrowed. "Now I'm going to have to go through all the trouble to dump the little trollop and have my name drug through the rumor mill mud. I won't be able to get a girl for another month on account of you."

I rolled my eyes. Even with his reputation as a total arse-hole, Blaise always managed to seduce somebody or other, and he knew it. He was mostly annoyed with me that he'd have to go through the extra trouble.

As the girl returned, Blaise shot me a warning glance, which I nodded in response to. I wouldn't trouble him any more.

Blaise let the girl perch on his lap again, playing with her hair flirtatiously. My lips pursed in disapproval. Couldn't he wait until he got what I needed to start flirting again?

"So, what did they have to say, sweetest girl?"

Blaise's fake affection had my stomach rolling in disgust, but it seemed to work on the silly bint.

Her voice was light and non-substantial as she giggled, flattered pink. "Well, they've had it from the Gryffindors that the Golden Trio has been having a spat and..."

I was listening intently, happy to hear that perfect Potter and his cronies weren't as ideal as they seemed, when I realized the girl was looking at me rather nervously.

Blaise kissed her neck sensually, encouraging her softly. "What else did they say...?" He asked in a gentle voice, trying not to pressure her and scare her off.

"Well... um..." I briefly wondered if she was flustered due to Blaise's lips on her neck, or the content of her response. Her voice was shaky, and she looked down, unable to meet my curious gaze. "Er, see... Ron was accusing Hermione of... um, well, you know... with Malfoy."

She seemed incapable of blatantly explaining what the Mudblood and I were supposedly doing, but by the suggestive raise of her eyebrows and insinuating tone, I knew exactly what people were saying and it would not do, not at all.

Blaise kissed the girl, and let her off his lap to return to the Ravenclaw table so he and I could talk.

As he turns around to face me, I curse him internally for the gleeful, exalted expression on his face. He looks like the cat who's eaten the canary.

"Why Draco, I hadn't realized how... reformed you've become." Blaise lingers on the word reformed, rolling it off his tongue, practically oozing smugness.

I feel the contents of the crummy Hogwarts food rising up my throat at the thought of even touching something so filthy, so... beneath me as Granger is. She is a freak, and abomination, a spot on the wizarding race.

I feel like punching the satisfaction off of Blaise's face, except Slytherin's don't resort to Muggle brutality to fight. Emotion is a sign of weakness, so, as disgusted as I feel, and as angry as I am, I pull the Malfoy curtain of apathy up, and regard Blaise coolly.

"I assure you, these..." I search momentarily for the right word to fit my sentiment. "...vile rumors are fabricated. As if I would lower myself to that filth."

Blaise is still grinning, damn him. "Well that's a shame. I was going to say, if Gryffindor's privileged little princess has finally taken a walk on the dark side, I'd like to take a taste of those waters, if you catch my drift."

Unfortunately, I did, and it was making me sick to my stomach. "Blaise, you go too far. If you weren't my friend, I'd hex you into next week."

Blaise winked wickedly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "So, Draco doesn't like to share his playthings..."

I shoved him, throwing my calm collection to the wind. Blaise Zabini was a powerful ally, but for all the perks of our friendship, he could still be a right bloody wanker.

* * *

**Draco POV**

As dinner winds down, I run over in my head how I'm supposed to confront Granger about the disgusting rumors. If she'd started them, the witch was going to get a lot worse than a dip in the Black Lake.

Collecting the hoard of first years, I wait for the crowd to pass, my angry gaze boring into Granger's turned head. I see her fidget uncomfortably, as though she can feel the aura of my anger reaching out to strangle her from the other side of the room.

Her head turns around, sweeping the room for the reason for the feeling when she meets my gaze, wide amber eyes confused and bewildered. I hold her glance, fury radiating off of me. She lowers her eyes, uncomfortable, and turns away, feigning innocence.

I don't believe her for one instant, but I decide to wait until I can corner her alone to confront her. For now, I played baby sitter for a crowd of miserable little prats.

* * *

**Draco POV**

I had just left the Slytherin's in the dungeon dorms, and was walking up the stairs to meet McGonagall in her office for our meeting when I entered the hall, and as I passed a hall junction, I felt a rush of air whip past me and see a brown fluffy blur.

I step back, surprised at the sudden motion, before my eyes focus in, and I realize the figure that darted past me and was sprinting away from me in the hall was none other than Granger.

What the hell? Had she seen me?

I shout out her name, repressing a stream of curses I'd like to tag onto the sentiment in hopes she would stop.

She heard my call and twisted around to see me before turning back around and fleeing from me faster than before, confirming my suspicion that she was trying to get away from me.

Like that stupid mudblood stood a chance outrunning me. I chased after her, drawing my wand from my pocket as I approached her. I yell out for her to stop but it merely added to her determination to escape my pursuit.

Frustrated and in no mood to run around the castle like a damned fool, I take my aim and shoot a leg binding charm at the fleeing witch, catching her in the back of the legs as she falls forward.

Pleased with myself, I approach her trembling form. "What the hell, Granger? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

I grip her chin and yank it up to face me, my shrewd eyes taking in her widely dilated pupils and the silver sheen of tears streaking her face.

Her appearance confuses me, as I wonder why she'd had such an intense reaction to me. I use my strength to haul her to her feet. She shakes in my grip, and her eyes seem glazed over.

"Now listen here Granger, if you think for one second I'm going to tolerate you spreading disgusting rumors about me associating with your filth, you're wrong. I can make life very unpleasant for you if you don't fix this." She didn't respond to my accusation, she was staring over my shoulder blankly, and more tears were streaming down her face. I began to notice that she seemed detached, and not entirely present.

"Are you even listening?! Stupid mudblood bitch." I let go of her shoulder and she stumbled back, hitting the wall behind her. I turned to leave, a disgusted look painted across my face.

"Mr. Malfoy! What is the meaning of this!"

The sound of that voice filled the pit of my stomach with dread. Headmistress McGonagall was hurrying down the hall, taking in the scene with an enraged expression on her face.

Shit. How was I going to talk my way out of this mess?

* * *

A/N: So there it is! Hopefully you guys enjoyed Draco's perspective, and it stayed true enough to character. I enjoy writing from their opposing positions, so I'll most likely continue in this fashion, switching it up between the two. As the story progresses, I may add in POVs from other characters also, as needed, but for now, I'm sticking to Draco/Hermione. Thank you guys for seeing my story through this far, and as always, I'd love to hear some feedback from you guys (positive, constructive, whatever it may be) :)


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

**Chapter 8: Home Sweet Home**

**Draco POV**

McGonagall swooped down to Granger's side, shooting me the dirtiest glare I had ever seen on the old bat's face.

I resented the Headmistress, though she had initially vouched for my return to Hogwarts, because I suspected her vouch for me was out of duty to the old fool, Dumbledore, and not out of concern for my actual person.

Whatever people say about me, I can read people. Having grown up in an environment where every emotion, every impulse, every fancy had to be repressed, I grew very aware of the slightest alteration in the human face.

Darting eyes, quick rub of the nose, tense body posture... all clear signs of a liar. Reddened cheeks, eagerness to talk, a faster rate of speech, they all pointed to infatuation.

And McGonagall, shouting out her accusation instead of an inquiry as she absorbed the scene before her, ever so slightly gripping her wand tighter in her fist... I could read the witch's mistrust like a neon sign. It didn't surprise me. I had expected worse treatment after letting an army of death eater's into the castle and attempting murder on Hogwart's most renowned Headmaster.

But McGonagall's action also hardened me as the tiny, inconceivable hope I'd fostered, that the wizarding world would let "bygones be bygones," diminished and disintegrated into the recess of my cold, apathetic heart. I would never again be Draco the student, the child, the innocent. To the world I was Malfoy, the ex Death Eater, the dangerous, the damned.

I hadn't heard McGonagall's second question, which by the reddened, angered expression on her face, I assumed she'd repeated a few times.

Unable to save face now, I shrugged. "Er... sorry, what?"

McGonagall spat me a look of complete disapproval. "I asked, Mr. Malfoy, if you'd halfway been listening, what is the matter with Ms. Granger?"

I shrugged again, but by the harsh look on the Headmistress' face, body language was not going to suffice as an explanation.

I explained what had happened, what I'd seen, though I reserved my own hypothesis for why Granger was fleeing in such a hurry for my own speculation. I also left out the bit where I'd cursed at Granger quite a bit when I caught up with her. What she didn't know couldn't land me in detention.

McGonagall seemed reluctant to believe me, but relented as she levitated Granger's inanimate body towards the revolving staircase behind the Griffin leading to her office. She motioned for me to follow, and reluctantly, I did.

As the staircase wound up higher and higher, I was painfully aware of how late it was, and how incredibly comfortable the prospect of a warm bed sounded.

In McGonagall's office, which I casually observed retained the exact same decor as it had during Dumbledore's administration, I strode around the border of the room, eyeing the knick knacks with some mild interest.

From behind me, I heard McGonagall's hushed tones. "Enervate!"

Yellow light flooded the room, and seconds later, I heard a low grumble and dissatisfied groan. I turned, watching as Granger's eyes flitted open and she sat up slowly, her face chalk white and her fists balled into hard knobs.

I couldn't resist the small smirk that flitted across my thin lips. Granger looked like absolute shit, and it cheered me up to see someone looking more miserable than I felt, especially a member of the precious, 'Golden Trio.'

"Professor?" Granger seemed surprised to see McGonagall, and from the dazed, befuddled expression on her face, I began to realize she remembered little to nothing of the last half an hour's events.

Internally, I am relieved. The less reasons Gryffindor's privileged princess had to rat me out to McGonagall, the better.

"Yes, Ms. Granger, I'm afraid you've had a bad spell. Are you feeling alright? I found you in the hallway with Mr. Malfoy, and you looked in bad condition."

Granger was sucking in hard breaths, wiping the sleeve of her jumper across her cold, damp forehead, beading cool perspiration. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair tangled out around her like a wild bramble.

"Yes, I'm fine, I'm fine, I've just been stressed." Her nonchalant flippance confused me, and I wondered why Granger was trying to avoid raising McGonagall's alarm. Then again, I wondered why in Merlin's name I cared either way.

McGonagall motioned for me to take a seat next to Granger, as she moved around her desk, sitting in the high backed, mahogany chair like it was a throne of justice.

Peering over the rim of her glasses, McGonagall inspected our faces suspiciously.

"I want the truth about what has been going on between the two of you. As Head Boy and Head Girl, it is your duty to cooperate and compromise, regardless of your personal opinions." I rolled my eyes. This whole, fresh start, new leaf bid the Ministry was shoving down everyone's throat was a load of bullshit.

My father tortured and killed the parents and grandparents and siblings and aunts and uncles and children of the society I resided in. I helped a madman rise to power and nearly exterminate rational wizarding society as we knew it. There would be no new leaf for me, or anyone associated with Voldemort and his like. Hug a Slytherin my ass. The Gryffindors may think they were so noble, as to forgive, as to forget, but I knew better.

I knew that a Gryfindor is simply a Slytherin wearing a prettier mask.

"Honestly professor, I am fine. I'm just tired." Granger seemed to have shaken her sickly appearance and was putting more strength and conviction into her voice.

"Why did you come to dinner late, soaking wet?" McGonagall questioned, her tone hard.

"I... I fell out of our boat coming over the lake. My wand was wet and it has some cracks in it from last spring, so I didn't want to risk a drying charm." Granger's voice was straightforward, not wavering under the interrogation.

McGonagall looked to me, no doubt hoping I would give something away, but she was wasting her time. My face was made of plaster, of marble, of unfeeling stone and gave nothing away that I did not intend it to.

She turned her face back to Granger, eyes narrowed further. "A few first years reported seeing a disturbance on the boats. They said the two of you were yelling and wrestling and carrying on in the boat before you fell."

My stomach dropped a little in dread. Shit. This was it. I was going to be expelled, and possibly sent to Azkaban. Finishing my last year at Hogwarts was one of the ways I was supposed to prove my readjustment to society and earn my pardon. Without enrollment, the Ministry might very well throw me in a cell with Father.

Granger remained placid. "The first years are excitable, Professor. A few of them also claim to have seen the Giant Squid tonight. They probably saw Malfoy helping me back into the boat. I... may have been yelling a little loudly." Granger blushed. "The water was very cold, in my defense. I didn't mean for them to hear me."

Now I stared at Granger out of beaded eyes, suspicious. Why was she going to such lengths to cover up what I'd done? Why not tell McGonagall I dumped her sorry arse in the water and blackmailed her before I helped her out? McGonagall would strip my Head Boy status in an instant, which Granger would rejoice, no doubt. Why was she doing this? Did she think if she did me a 'favor', she could force me to behave civilly towards her?

I snorted. Fat chance. Her misplaced charity didn't change a thing about my attitude towards her.

McGonagall seemed less than convinced, but rather than accuse her top student of lying, she stood and sighed, the paper fine wrinkles on her face seeming suddenly more accentuated.

"Very well. I do hope that you two are able to put aside your differences and make this arrangement work. It is vital to the recovery of Hogwarts and the wizarding world that you do so. If you have nothing more to report, I will escort you to your suites."

Granger and I stood, silently following McGonagall to the enchanted staircases. Up three flights, on the left we turned down a staircase I had never explored. We reached a large expanse of wall covered in portraits, and for a few moments, I was merely shocked at the massive amount of frames hanging on a single wall.

As I peered closer, something cold set into the pit of my core. Remus Lupin, next to my cousin, Nymphadora Tonks. A few portraits down, Lavender Brown, a few more, Colin Creevey. The portraits were of war casualties.

A sinking feeling of blame was eating away at my corners as I felt the inescapable desire to do as Granger had done earlier, and run. I couldn't stand to stare at the faces of people who lost their lives fighting a force I had supported and condoned. I didn't know most of these faces, but their silent sleeping faces left a burden of guilt on my shoulders that felt too heavy for even Atlas to bear.

Granger seemed too preoccupied in her thoughts to have noticed the paintings in the dark, and McGonagall was silently leading the way with her wand out in front of us, a pale glow cast across the floor from her Lumos charm.

The portraits didn't awaken, so I slammed my eyes shut and hurriedly rushed past the macabre mural, my gut jolting as I did so.

Finally, at the end of the corridor, a large tapestry covered the brick wall and we stood before it, Granger and I staring at McGonagall expectantly.

She raised her wand to the tapestry, and said loud enough for us to hear, "Ignasco."

The tapestry came to life, unravelling to reveal a large opening in the brick wall. I ducked inside, eager to examine the contents of the room.

The furnishings surprised me. I had been expecting an even divide of Slytherin and Gryffindor representation, or if anything, an entirely Gryffindor decked dorm as a stab at my pride, but the quarters were very neutral.

Comfy armchairs sat around a low coffee table, across from a plush looking couch. A wide glass window was situated in a corner with a loveseat propped against it. Next to the window was a large bookcase, fully stocked, making for a perfect reading nook.

The room was spacious, and seemed almost empty compared to Hogwart's usual cluttered decor.

"This is the shared living spaces allotted to the pair of you. , on the right there is a staircase that leads to your private quarters. Ms. Granger, the staircase on the left will lead you to yours. The bathroom is through this door..." McGonagall veered to the right, opening a small beige colored door.

Inside was a large marble tub large enough for 10 people, with dozens of colored glass taps. The bathroom was organized in a miniature fashion to the prefects bathroom, with a wall sized mirror resting above two sinks. There were also two shower stalls, made from distorted glass to blur visibility.

Despite myself, I was impressed by the quality of the Head's Dorm, and for the first time since I'd been appointed, I was grateful I'd been given the position.

McGonagall paused at the tapestry on her way out, gripping Granger's arm in support and whispering a few kind words before she repeated the process we'd use to enter, in order to leave.

When she had gone, I began to feel the extended silence stretching between Granger and I. We were two enemies, thrust together in close proximity. By choice, we wouldn't breathe the same air, but it seemed choice was not a large consideration in the run of things.

"I'm sorry."

The voice broke the silence so abruptly, at first, I was unsure where it had come from. I offered no response or reply in return.

My silence seemed enough of an acceptance for Granger, as she passed me and plopped down onto the sofa, curling her feet under her legs.

Hesitantly, I sat, straight backed on an armchair, viewing Granger through unfriendly, calculating eyes.

She sighed, looking forlorn and uncomfortable. She seemed to be wrestling with some colossus of a thought, too complex, too convoluted to express.

Unable to stand the silence, I broke it firmly. "What's the matter with you Granger? You abandon your patrol and miss the meeting with the prefects, and when I finally track you down, I find you sprinting around the campus like a bat out of hell, without a clue what's going on. I always knew you were batshit crazy, but this war has REALLY done a number on your brain Granger."

For a moment, a look similar to the one Granger had held when she slapped me all those years ago, splashed across the mudblood's features, and I tensed, expecting her small hand to fly out of my peripherals at my person. But as soon as the fire had erupted, it collapsed into something far more pathetic, and detestable.

Granger's shoulder slumped, her eyes tired. "The castle, the sights... they remind me of what happened that night during the battle... I forget where I am, I just... the memories start to come alive all over again and I can't get away."

I sneer at her pathetic confession, snidely wondering if she was expecting a hug, or for me to shed sympathetic tears. Gryffindor's were just a bunch of snivelly bleeding hearts. Pathetic, the lot of them.

I didn't admit that I shared a similar fear, here, where my innocence had been blotted out by the darkness thrust upon me. Where I'd slowly lost my mind 6th year as my loyalties were called into question, my life and the life of my family on the line as I betrayed my peers and fellow wizards. Where I'd threatened to murder Albus Dumbledore, and he had called me out and seen that in my heart of hearts, I didn't even have the resolve to see it through. It left a sickening taste in my mouth and a bitter seed in my heart. But I wasn't a fucking Gryffindor, and so I kept these thoughts inside and buried them deeper.

I stood, climbing the staircase to my room. As I reached the door to my room, I turned my back to catch a glimpse of Granger, still catatonic on the couch.

"Grow the fuck up Granger, it wasn't just your war. We all have demons, it's time you put that useless axiom of Gryffindor bravery to use, and learned to face them."

Feeling proud of myself, I entered my room and shut the door behind me, simultaneously shutting Granger out of my thoughts.

* * *

A/N: So this chapter is entirely Draco POV, but I promise there will be more Hermione POV in the next chapter! Big thank you to all my lovely readers, and as always, I'd LOVELOVELOVELOVE to hear some commentary/feedback/reviews from you guys! Hope you guys liked it, and stay tuned for the next chapter


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

**Chapter 9: Obligations**

**Hermione POV**

Malfoy's dismissal felt like a cold slap in the face to top off a perfectly horrendous evening. Though the vitality and consuming grip of my panic attack had faded, the subliminal stress and anxiety was still coursing through my system.

I hadn't thought it would be this bad, returning to Hogwarts. I thought it would be the worst at the Burrow, submerged among a family in loss, but the potency of the sights and sensations I connected to at Hogwarts was equally overwhelming. I felt out of control, I felt powerless, as I had during the Final Battle.

Harry walked to meet his death, to meet Voldemort in the forest, and I could do _nothing_. My friends and loved ones were suffering and dying all around me, and I could do _nothing_. I was consumed by fear and adrenaline and the constant battle between my fight and flight instincts.

For not the first time, I wondered what was wrong with me. Our side had won, we were victors, and while the celebration and pure relief had distracted us temporarily from the horrors we witnessed, the shiny paper wrapper began to peel and fade away, revealing the hollowness underneath. I didn't feel victorious. I felt a great burden that couldn't be lifted. I felt the magnitude of loss so profound it crippled my very conscious.

I was slowly being driven mad by the realization that I was not, and in all likelihood, would never be the same Hermione Granger that had volunteered to fight in a war that would rob me of my identity, my will, and my sense of safety. Was it worth it?

Walking up the stairs to my bedchambers, I mildly wondered if such troubling thoughts plagued the Death Eaters locked in Azkaban. I wondered if being on the losing side hurt as much as winning, but still losing everything.

Exhausted from the exertion of the day, I stripped my wet clothes from my pale skin, depositing them unceremoniously in a heap on the floor. I had barely slipped into a silk shift and collapsed onto my bed when blissful oblivion consumed me.

* * *

**Hermione POV**

"Hermione, what gives? You look like hell," Ginny commented around her morning toast as I slid into the seat across from her, rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes.

I downed a cup of pumpkin juice, the starchy sweet liquid leaving a thick coating on the insides of my mouth. "Gee, thanks Gin. Good morning to you, too."

Ginny rolled her eyes and took another bite of toast, scanning the front page of the paper.

"Anything new?" I ask Ginny, reading a short blurb about upcoming elections on the back of her page. I didn't subscribe to the Daily Prophet, a pact I'd made after the ugly rumors they'd let Rita Skeeter publish about me. I didn't go so far as to convert to the Quibbler, but I contented myself to getting second hand news from friends.

"Nah, they've slowed down on stalking you three," Ginny replied, a little bitter. She was referring to the enormous media campaign of the last few months, following the plight of the "Golden Trio" after the war. Where were they now, who were they dating, who were they wearing?

It all made me rather nauseous to think about. Mr. Weasley had been furious, and through the Order's network, Kingsley Shacklebolt and a few others were able to get the reporters to tone down the hype and allow us all to grieve and recover in considerable peace.

Still though, I'd taken to Disillusioning myself in public whenever I could.

An appreciative groan from my left informed me of Ron's presence as he plopped down beside me, eyeing the food with eyes as wide as saucers. I saw his arm extend to surround me, and as I leaned into the half hug, I was startled by a pair of pale, chapped lips pressing into my own.

Ron pulled out of the kiss and smiled widely before retracting his arm from around my shoulders, to better facilitate his breakfast eating.

"Morning 'Mione. Sleep well?" Ron asked brightly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and he hadn't just intimately kissed me out of the blue.

I caught Ginny's half amused, half surprised, but obviously approving smirk as she looked down at her food. "Um... yeah, good. You?" I reigned in the surprise in my voice.

Ron nodded, mouth full of sausage links and the first half of a banana blueberry crepe.

My mind reeled a little bit. The relationship between Ron and I had been strained ever since the war. He kissed me in the chamber of secrets, and in the heat of the moment, in the fear and passion and sheer realization that we could both be dead in a few minutes, I'd relented. I knew that shutting down Ron's advances in the middle of the battle would hurt him, and could get him killed if he was distracted and depressed, and so I went along with it.

After the battle, we'd both been in grieving, and Ron sought me as a shoulder to lean on. Very quickly his grief had morphed into a desperate passion as he tried to drown out sorrow with kisses, and a number of other things.

It was hard to fend off his advances in a delicate manner. We were both suffering, and I didn't want to add to the hurt he was struggling with, so I told Ron that we needed to take a break, that the war was still too fresh for me, that I needed to heal. It wasn't the entire truth, but as far as I knew, it was enough.

I thought with time, I'd learn to deal with the aftermath of the war, and Ron and I might even transition into more. But if anything, the process of healing had caused me to grow even further apart from him. He hadn't understood why I was keeping him at an arm's length when our peers all around us were diving into relationships, some of them even getting married and starting families instead of returning to school.

His new behavior seemed to suggest that Ron was under the impression that with our return to Hogwarts came a return to our lives before the war. It was like he thought that now we were back at school, everything would return to normal and we could pick up where we left off. I sighed, comprehending how untrue that hope was, and how much I wished it could be a reality.

I felt guilty that I'd let Ron hope for this long, that I didn't nip it in the bud before it grew into an expectation. I was afraid of hurting him, and now I found myself wound in a web of obligation. I felt guilty for not loving Ron, the way he wanted me to. In all reality, my childhood crush for him was short lived. By the time he'd dated Lavender, I'd shut away all my old feelings for him and let them go.

But I did love Ron, as a brother, as a twin even. And it was just enough of this love that prevented me from turning him down, out of fear of harming him. We'd just fought a war, I rationalized, to dump him now would crush him. I felt confident that if we let this fling ride out its course, Ron would grow to realize the same things that I had.

We would always be close friends, but could never make a relationship work. When that happened, I hoped that we could put the past behind us and return to a stronger, platonic relationship. Tracing the outline of my plan, a sarcastic thought briefly flitted into my mind as I recalled what Harry had once said about our plans. 'We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose.'

Well, I'd just have to deal with that hell, when it came time to. For now, I ignored the uncomfortable guilt I felt as Ron's hand resting on my leg and Harry and Ginny stared at us with a budding hope and joy for their two best friends.

* * *

A/N: Shedding some light onto the nature of Hermione and Ron's relationship. Unfortunately, a lot of this buildup and back story is important to the realism of the plot, and I can't simply fast forward to the Dramione smut ;)  
I like Dramione action as much as the next shipper, but it's also one of my biggest Dramione peeves when a fic just has Hermione and Draco drop their previous prejudices and history like yesterday's news so they can go have some hot shagging. LOL. So, bear with me, we'll get there eventually, I just want the journey to seem believable... thanks again for reading, and I'd lovelovelovelove reviews and feedback :)


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

**Chapter 10: Misguided Motives**

**Draco POV**

Resigning myself to the poor quality of school food, I grabbed a breakfast muffin to accompany a cup of scalding Earl Grey Tea.

Blaise was nowhere to be seen, and I suspected he'd be holed up for the next couple days with that silly slice of a girl from the welcoming feast. A quick scan of the Ravenclaw table confirmed that she too was missing.

Though my friend's antics amused me, Blaise's absence left me in an awkward position of eating alone at the table for the first time since I'd enrolled at Hogwarts. I ate in a hurry, quickly becoming cross as I heard whispers of my name flitting around and I caught sideways glances observing me curiously out of the corners of my peripherals.

My presence was bound to create a stir, with the incarceration of my father, and the family name being drug through the mud in a trial that was still being fought over the Malfoy Estate in the Wizengamot. In short, I had expected as much. But the mention of my name, in conjunction with the disgusting rumors from the night before, made me question what the busy bodies were talking about.

Their absent minded chitter chatter reminded me that I hadn't chewed Granger out concerning the hearsay floating about. "New Age" of wizard tolerance or not, I wasn't about to lower my pride, literally into the mud by associating with someone of her background.

While I opposed Voldemort's methods, and the brutality of his reign, the war had failed to prove to me the equality between purebloods and muggleborns. They would always remain in my eyes outsiders, thrust into a world they had no place in.

They simply lacked the upbringing, the traditions, the aptitude for wizarding culture and custom. Deep down, they were muggles given a wizard's gift; freaks of nature, and no pro-mudblood propaganda was going to persuade me otherwise.

Finishing my brief meal, and having no other reason to linger in the Great Hall, I lifted my bag onto my back and made my way out onto the grounds, hoping to catch a last feel for the late summer air.

* * *

**Draco POV**

I had just settled under a shaded oak tree with a glorious view of the Black Lake, as well as a few alluring Slytherin 6th years, losing their modesty as well as their clothing on the shore as they waded waist deep into the chilled waters, splashing each other and giggling in light, airy voices, when I heard my name being called from the castle courtyard.

"Malfoy!" The voice was insistent, and one of my least favorite sounds in the entire universe.

I turned to take in Boy Wonder, and his pig headed red sidekick, the Weasel. I don't know which disgusted me more, the pitying expression on Potter's transparent face, or the Weasel and the Mudblood, connected at the hip in a couple's embrace as the group approached me.

"Watch yourself Potter. Last time I checked, I was Head Boy, and they hadn't even made you Prefect." I prided myself especially in the revelation that I held power over the infamous 'Boy Who Lived.'

Potter shook his head, uncharacteristically not rising to the spur of my barb. "I wanted to thank you."

If the prick was trying to surprise me, he'd done it, because the words sounded false even as I repeated them in my head. Even with my absent, stony expression, Potter must have detected my surprise, because he continued to explain.

"I sent in a testimony for you and your mother. You could have outed my identity at the Manor, but you kept it to yourself. And your mother, she lied to Voldemort and told him I was dead. Thank you for what you both did. I know we hated each other in school, and I don't intend to stop despising you, but I wanted to get that off my chest."

The Dark Lord's name still sent an uncomfortable shiver down my spine which I ignored as I sneered at Potter, despising his misguided sense of gratitude and his 'holier-than-thou' attitude.

"What makes you think I did it to save your sorry hide? Did you ever stop to consider that those who served him had as much to gain in his demise as you did? The only people the Dark Lord treated worse than his enemies were his allies. You're a foul egotist if you think my mother or I gave a rat's arse about your well being Potter. Haven't you learned anything about Slytherin's?"

"He's dead." The voice came from the mudblood, and it took me a moment to process what she'd said.

"No shit he's dead. Do you think I'm an idiot, mudblood?"

The Weasel's face passed pink and red to mottle into a plum purple tone as he attempted to unwind himself from Granger and throw himself at me.

Granger held him tightly, cocking her head to the side as she inspected me with pitying curiosity.

"Lord Voldemort," she whispered softly. I tried to resist but the chill ran through me again. The mudblood had the nerve to smirk. "I was just pointing out that you still can't say his name. You know what they say about fear of the name?"

I glared at the witch with unspoken sentiments. _You haven't seen the things I've seen, mudblood. You haven't been forced to do the things I've done. You weren't broken in the way that I was. You know nothing._

I kept my sentiments to myself, assessing the situation to be decidedly in their favor. The Weasel looked ready to eat me, and even though Potter was putting on his saintly charade, I didn't put it past him to attack if I said anything touchy about Granger's filthy existence.

I stood, drawing to my full height, which I noted smugly daunted over all three of them, as I stared menacingly into Granger's defiant brown eyes.

"You know nothing of fear."

I didn't listen for a response as I lifted my bag onto my shoulder, cursing under my breath as I left in search of a more secluded spot to enjoy my afternoon.

* * *

**Hermione POV**

I'd tried to convince Harry that approaching Malfoy was a volatile and bad situation, but he was stubborn and determined and in all the years I'd known him, he'd never once taken my advice so I wasn't shocked when Ron volunteered to accompany him, in case he needed to "beat the little punk's ass and remind him who won that war."

While I found Ron's attitude barbaric, I also didn't trust Malfoy as far as I could throw him, and I very much doubted he could care less about Harry's gratitude. I resigned myself to following the pair, telling myself that I could at least moderate, as Head Girl, if things turned ugly.

I don't know what I expected Malfoy to do. Exactly as he'd done, I supposed.

Though he talked big, it intrigued me that he was unable to utter the name of a man he'd served as an ally. A man who had landed his own father in prison and blackmailed Malfoy into attempting murder on the greatest wizard of our age. A dead tyrant, and Malfoy was still living in fear of him.

Maybe it pleased me more than it should that Voldemort had terrorized his followers as well as his enemies. It seemed poetic justice in my mind.

My mind reeled with these speculations, conveniently fading my tension over the fact that Ron's hand was gripping low on the small of my back, and the possessive feel of his hold was already wearing my patience thin.

As Ginny caught up to us and joined Harry, they paired off and left to inspect the Quidditch grounds, which I translated to 'making out in the bleachers.'

"Do ya' wanna take a walk 'round the grounds?" Ron asked me, brushing my hair out of my face with his right hand.

"Uh, sure. We could visit Hagrid," I suggest, and even though Ron doesn't look thrilled about the idea, he nods and agrees.

I wonder if he's doing it on purpose, using our walk as a chance to parade me around for all the world to see. It feels like every single student is outside on this unseasonably warm autumn day, their eyes following us around the grassy slopes, whispering about the "Golden Couple."

Ron isn't helping, holding me so close I feel like I'm an accessory and calling out to everyone he recognizes, as if he needs the excuse to draw attention to us.

By the time we get to Hagrid's, I'm relieved for the excuse of alternative company, and I knock hastily.

By the 4th knock and a lengthy pause, we'd ascertained that Hagrid wasn't home, much to my disappointment.

Ron, in contrast, didn't look too put out as he led us back around the castle. "Do ya' wanna go through the gardens?" he asked innocently, pulling me along casually by our interwoven hands.

My instincts tell me not to follow him. The gardens were only used for one thing at Hogwarts: makeouts. 2 years as a Prefect had taught me that much, every 3 weeks on the outside rounds I'd have to kick out a couple of randy teenagers, feeling each other up and snogging behind the gardenia bushes.

"Um, I'd rather go back to the castle Ron. My allergies are starting to kick up in this weather." It was a poor excuse, but I didn't know how else to get out of it.

"'Mione... it's really beautiful, it'll only take us a few minutes, I swear! And it's such a beautiful day, you'll spend all winter cooped up in the library! Let's enjoy the outside while we can!" The more persuasive his voice sounded, the more anxious I felt at the prospect.

But there was nothing I could say. There wasn't anything to do inside, with almost everyone outside, enjoying the day, so I nodded meekly and followed him. As we passed the pumpkin patches and the Herbology greenhouses, I looked around, trying to find someone we knew to join us on our walk, or invite us to sit with.

My luck was bad, as I glanced around, I didn't see anyone. Most of the students were congregating near the lake, where the morning sun was brightest and there was plenty of trees and benches.

The shadowed half of the castle grounds was still quiet and a cool chilled breeze whistled around my ankles. Ron led us into the gardens, the high shrub walls making me feel anxious and secluded.

We reached the far end of the garden and Ron sat down in the marble gazebo, draped in jasmine ivy tendrils. I sat next to him hesitantly, more comfortable here than in the middle of the labyrinth, but still feeling on edge.

I could sense it in his voice, and I just knew it'd been a bad idea to come here with him. "'Mione... I wanted to talk to you. I... I think you know what I'm going to say."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Why couldn't we have followed Ginny and Harry? Why did he have to have this talk now? Already?

He must not have interpreted my expression of complete distraught, because he plowed on with his heavily rehearsed speech. "And. And I think you know I love you, and I know you wanted us to wait until after... well, everything happened. But I think now is the right time for us, and I want you to be with me. We've been fighting it for so long, but even as kids 'Mione, I think this was meant to be, and I want us to just move forward with it."

Wrong, so very wrong. It hurt me to hear it, to hear his love declarations. He never even stopped to wonder if maybe the reason it had never worked between us before was because it wasn't meant to work. Maybe in some other universe where his jealousy of Harry and his complete ignorance of my feelings hadn't shot our chances in the foot so early on, we might have developed into something. But the time for our relationship was past, and frankly, I was glad we've never taken that plunge before.

If I had dated Ron when I was 14, 15, I might have settled. I might have accepted what he was and never wanted more. But now... now I knew, and it hurt, but I couldn't settle for what Ron and I had.

"Ron... please don't do this. You're young, you don't know what you want. This isn't... it isn't meant to work between us." I was so angry that I didn't have the right words for this, that half the explanation was hidden, and the other half sounded like a weak defense.

Electric blue eyes were piercing into my soul and assessing my indecision. "I know what I want 'Mione, I want you." Ron pulled me closer to capture my lips, kissing me like a desiccating man drinks water.

His chapped lips felt cool to the touch, and not unpleasant, but foreign. My shoulders tensed as I felt the soft push of his tongue against my bottom lip, tracing its outline sensually. Ron's hands were holding my back firmly, palming small circles along my spine.

I sat motionless, my eyes closed, really assessing the moment. The longer the kiss dragged on, the more I truly believed there was no spark between Ron and I. He wasn't a bad kisser, he just didn't instigate those feelings of want and desire in me. I felt... unaffected, distant from the sensations in my body.

As he removed his lips from my mouth, I took a few deep breaths, the air sending cold sensations across my flush pink lips. I looked down at his ruffled red hair and the splatters of freckles across his long, narrow nose. It made my heart feel like lead.

When his kisses trailed onto my neck and his hand gravitated south to cup my bottom, I placed my hands firmly on his chest, pushing his torso back. "Ron, stop."

He looked up, confused, halting his kisses, but not letting go of me.

"Please, Ron, I just. It isn't right." My voice sounded thick and I swallowed the lump, knowing tears would freak him out more than anything.

He finally let his hands down and allowed me to scoot back so I could look at him face on.

"'Mione, I don't understand. I love you." The lead in my core was growing, and so was the lump in my throat, looking at Ron's saddened expression.

"I love you too Ron, but, I think we're confusing our friendship with something it's not; something neither of us is ready for." Or would ever be ready for, I thought to myself.

He picked up my hand, pleadingly. "Please, please, 'Mione, just... give this a chance. 1 month, and I swear, if you're not happy, then we'll call it off, but don't let this die without ever seeing where it could go. Please."

But I knew, I knew in a month, in a year, in a decade... I would never love my bestfriend in anything other than the platonic, familial way, but the offer was tempting. Tempting because it postponed the day that I'd have to break his heart, and risk him hating me. I didn't want to lose my best friend, not when I'd already lost myself.

"Okay."

I was looking down when he kissed me again, quickly tasting my lips in joy and triumph. For me, it tasted of my own cowardice.

"C'mon, lets go find Harry and Ginny," Ron suggested as he pulled away from the embrace. I nodded hastily, glad to avoid further awkwardness between us. It was only a matter of time before Ron realized I didn't have it in me to be an active participant in our relationship.

As we walked out of the gazebo and along the stony path, I briefly saw a flash of platinum hair and a forest green sweater dodging around the corner in a blur of motion, but as I looked back around the corner, I saw no one, and I put the image from my mind, following Ron back to the Quidditch pitch.

* * *

A/N: There's really no other word for Ron except ignoramus, first class. He may mean well, but he's very thoughtless to the needs and thoughts of the people around him. As Hermione once said, he has the emotional range of a teaspoon, and I think the emotional comprehension of one as well. So anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this one, even if the Draco/Hermione situation hasn't started heating up yet. Thank you for reading, and as always, I'd love to hear some reviews! Also, I am going on a mini vacay for 2 days, so ch.11 will probably be up on the 7th or 8th (weds/thurs).


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

**Chapter 11: Misery Loves Company**

**Draco's POV**

Fucking prick! My eyes narrowed as I heard the Weasel's obnoxious voice drifting through the garden. I'd gone in search for a quiet place to read and relax, but apparently even this secluded place wasn't safe from the witless wonder.

My stomach churned uncomfortably as I saw the Mudblood following the Weasel like a dog on a leash. Revolting. How in the hell did she earn the title "brightest witch of her age" following around a moron like Weasely? Granger might have out competed me a few notches in tests and classes, but as far and people perception went, she was flunking.

I debated giving up on my outdoor excursion all together and returning to the castle but my curiosity overrode this inclination as I inched closer to the Gryffindor's position, watching intently.

If the sight of the "golden couple" had initially nauseated me, the sight of Weasley practically molesting his so-very-obviously-not-consenting partner actually brought the taste of bile to the back of my throat.

The Weasel's hands were grabbing all over her unresponsive, tensed body, his lips smearing across her face and neck. Though the sight repulsed me to my very core, it somewhat pleased me to know that Weasley had the intimate talents of a fumbling ogre.

Just disgusting really. The Mudblood was making a pathetic attempt to separate herself from the fool, and the moron was actually pleading with her. Merlin, the blood-traitor had fallen far, to be begging a mudblood for anything.

You couldn't sink lower in my opinion. I couldn't even imagine sinking so low as to _beg_ to get into a mudblood's knickers, or _any_ woman's knickers for that matter. Didn't Weasley have a shred of dignity and pride? War or no war, Weasley wasn't a true man. He was a pathetic, manipulative boy.

You didn't win a woman over by pleading and carrying on like a fucking pussy. You seduced her, you teased and taunted her, all the while remaining aloof until she was on hands and knees begging _you_ for attention, ready to please you, to do anything. I mean shit, that was pretty much common knowledge.

I watched the Mudblood give in to the Weasel with a mixture of emotions. I was disgusted by her weakness when, for all the supposed Gryffindor courage, she caved like a house of cards in a slight breeze.

Even though it was pathetic to watch, and the return of Weasley's make out molestation would permanently be burned into my brain, I couldn't help feel a small sense of satisfaction. A small part of me felt better knowing there was someone at Hogwarts who was more miserable than I, and it just happened to be Hermione fucking Granger.

People said that I deserved my fate, I deserved to live an unsatisfactory, ostracized life. And so, it lifted my spirits to know that I wasn't the only one whose world was fractured by the war. I wasn't the only one not reveling in the victory and fame.

Misery loves company, and so I relished in Granger's despair.

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

I was able to repress feelings of guilt for leading Ron on as we spent the rest of the afternoon visiting with old friends and catching up. Everyone was so thrilled to see us together, wishing us congratulations, and celebrating what the majority of Hogwarts deemed to be "fate at last," that I lost myself in the acceptance and approval of my peers.

It felt good to have so much happiness directed at me, and it momentarily bathed me in a positive, optimistic glow. So many people couldn't be wrong after all.

I began to wonder if my hesitation to be with Ron had any logical basis.

Maybe it was just a product of my fear of rejection. Ron had chased other girls, and ignored me for many years, maybe now that we were together, I was still worried that his feelings weren't genuine, that he might find someone else, and I couldn't risk getting hurt.

Maybe I was afraid of losing him as a friend if our romantic relationship terminated, and I didn't want to take the risk.

Maybe I was too critical of Ron. He was a war hero, my best friend, a loyal and honest person. Maybe my expectations for a lover were too high. I was a perfectionist, bordering on OCD. Maybe Ron was the best I would ever have, and I was risking ending up alone and bitter if I didn't jump at the opportunity to be with him.

It's not like I had a line of suitors knocking at my door.

Maybe this was my only chance.

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

My head began to hurt as I internally debated the entire debacle, trying to save face by chattering amiably with Neville, Luna, Harry, and Ginny over cucumber finger sandwiches, but the conflicting thoughts within me began to rise.

I made my excuses and left them on the lawn, retreating back to the castle. I subconsciously found myself heading towards the library before I realized that I didn't have any homework. Unsure what to do, I left in the opposite direction to return to my dorm and have a lie down.

Looking forward to an afternoon nap, I decided to use the shortcut McGonagall had used to get to our dorm, as opposed to the route I had been taking down to the Great Hall and back.

Stepping out of an alcove and walking along the passage to my dorm, I recognized the sound of vaguely familiar voices. I glanced behind me, expecting to see a group of people, but the hall was empty. Confused, I scanned out ahead of me, and saw a wall decked in portraits.

Curiously, I stepped forward, my eyes soaking in the faces memorialized there. Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown, Tonks, Lupin… shit shit SHIT!

My heart was racing, eyeballs stinging with the invasion of hot, watery tears spilling down my face. I yanked my gaze away from the wall, running to the tapestry, my wand shaking in my hand.

_Shit. What was the password?_ My mind was racing. How in Merlin's name could I have forgotten.

"Hermione?" The voice came from the wall and turned my blood cold.

"IGNACIO!"

The password burst from me violently as it drifted to the surface of my memory. The tapestry was still weaving apart as I pushed my way through it, drowning out the voices calling my name.

An unnerved, detached scream erupted from my lungs as I slashed my wand at a nearby ottoman, sending it spiraling across the room into a hung landscape of the lake.

Addicted to the noise of the crashing and breaking material, I lashed out again and again with my wand, red and gold flashing sparks erupting like the anger inside of me.

I knew no names of spells or curses or hexes, all I knew was the boiling rage that was channeling through me onto the dorm furniture. The bookshelf toppled, books flying through the air across the room, their weak pages fluttering down from the air like so much confetti, like birds with broken wings.

_Why didn't I do something? Why did I live when people I loved died? Why was I so weak, so weak, so stupid, brightest witch of my age… couldn't do anything, worthless. Book smart, and useless. _

_What did all that studying do for you,_ I asked myself. _First in my class, and they DIED. _

The screaming transformed into sobs. The anger had felt good for a while, it felt good to destroy the things around me, to mimick the destruction I felt inside. I was fucked up inside, and I wanted my surroundings to be equally fucked up. I couldn't control the destruction of my emotions, of my sanity, of my mental well being, but I could control this. This destruction was a product of my doing, my carefully aimed wand was purposeful, it's intent decisive. The control was addictive, because I couldn't control anything else it seemed.

But the feeling of control faded, and I was left with the brokenness and the feelings of hatred and bitterness and regret. I sunk to the floor in the middle of the room, crying and wanting to feel in control of my life again. I wanted to be the Hermione I used to be, the one with a plan, with ideas. The Hermione who was in charge of every situation, who was master of her own life, not this pathetic scrap of a person who didn't have the strength to keep things I cared about from being taken from me.

The first headline of the Daily Prophet after the Battle for Hogwarts read: Dark Lord Vanquished; Wizarding War at an End.

But they were wrong. The war wasn't over for all of us, not by a long shot.

* * *

A/N: So basically Hermione is having conflicting feelings over honesty to herself, where she doesn't desire Ron as more than a friend, and earning the acceptance and approval of her friends, which I think is a powerful influence in a lot of people's lives. We want the people we care about and admire to support our decisions and goals and actions, so for Hermione to know that all of her closest friends and people she looks up to have been waiting for her and Ron to get together... it's a powerful source of pressure. In addition to that, Hermione has always been somewhat of a control freak. She thought if she just studied enough, she could get top grades, and that was all there was to it. So, in my opinion, it seems natural that she would react poorly to war realities. The very core tenements of her person were shattered by the events of the war. She learned the hard way, that you can't control what is going to happen. No amount of studying or preparation on her part was able to save her friends lives. So she has a lot of anger over the disintegration of her personal beliefs, and also feeling very lost because she's lost her sense of purpose.

Draco is feeling very isolated. He is angry that he's painted as a villian, when a lot of the decisions he made, he was pressured into. He's angry that he's had a reversal of fortune, and that he's looked down on in wizarding society. So it's natural that he enjoys seeing Hermione struggling too. Even if he hates her, or despises her existence at this point, he doesn't want to be alone, and since he's in a bad place emotionally, it pleases him to know that Hermione is too.

Let me know what you think, as always REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! And many thanks for reading, I will have another chapter up shortly :)


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

* * *

**Chapter 12: Raw**

**Draco POV**

I'd resigned myself to another meal in solitude, sitting down haughtily at the Slytherin table, sulking as I observed the happy, bright faces of my peers. It left a seed of bitterness in my core to watch so many innocent, carefree faces enjoying the day. I envied them, and so I hated them.

Blaise pulled up next to me, looking for all the world like the cat who ate the canary. A wide, lazy smile was pulled across his face, his pearly white teeth glowing against his dark, smooth complexion. I detected a deep rouge blush in his cheeks, and his hair was somewhat mussed, from Merlin knows what.

I didn't know whether to smirk at, or punch my best friend who had the balls to show up at dinner, practically oozing his "just-had-fucking-amazing-sex" aura. The prick.

"Where've you been all day?" I ask him, feigning disinterest as I pour a cup of hot cider.

Blaise shrugged, his smile widening. "You know… around," he replied coyly, waggling his eyebrows at me. I laughed under my breath, shaking my head in disbelief.

"You sure don't waste any time," I commented, chewing down on a chunk of sirloin. He nodded in admission, grabbing a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

"She was incredible… you wouldn't even believe… ugh…" Blaise closed his eyes, reliving the vivid memory. His eyes opened as he focused in on me. "You really should widen your horizons, Draco. It'd do you some good."

My eyes narrowed at his insinuation. "What's that supposed to mean?" The hard edge to my question was evident.

"Just that you should experiment more this year, try some new conquests. I like a Slytherin dame as much as the next guy, but girls from other houses… they're something else altogether. I mean, chasing them is a bit of a hassle, because they've got their noble priorities and what not, but if you can get one, it is _soooo_ worth it."

He returned to chewing his food while I wondered what he meant. After a swig of hot tea, he continued to elaborate.

"It's like… fucking a Slytherin for a Hufflepuff, or a Ravenclaw, and especially a Gryffindor, is taboo, off limits, restricted. And let me tell you," Blaise emphasized his point by pointing his fork at me. "Forbidden sex is _the_ hottest sex there is. There's the danger that someone's going to find out, and reputations are on the line. It's exciting because they think Slytherins are these dangerous, rebellious, bad boys. Draco, my friend, you have not fucked until you've fucked someone who's breaking all the rules."

Blaise was a good friend, and I admired his zeal, but there were some things we didn't understand about each other.

Where Blaise was a sex machine and would fuck anything on two legs, I was taught to repress all my urges and desires. My sexual preferences, as a result, were very particular. I wasn't some damned muggle, who saw a nice rack, or a tight ass, and lost control of my cock.

Of course, I appreciated feminine beauty, but I looked for other qualities as well. Intelligence was an absolute requirement, as was loyalty, and strength of character. I didn't want some weak willed floozy to share my bed, regardless of her physical appeal. I wanted a girl who could defend herself. I wanted someone kind.

It surprised me to think of it, since it wasn't a particularly Slytherin quality, and certainly not one my father had instilled in me. But my mother had taught me love could be kind and caring and beautiful, and more than anything, I wanted that.

Pansy was the first girl I had; she fit the bill in all aspects: decent grades, elitist upbringing, strong minded, loyal as hell to me. But she was cruel, and something about that cruelty turned me off. Maybe it reminded me too much of my father.

As I pondered over what turned me on in a woman, I realized that the qualities I was searching for weren't the resume for a casual screw, but rather the characteristics of a long-time partner, the mother of my future children. It made sense, I supposed. Purebloods were raised to find other pure-bloods and pro-create.

But the realization also caused me to wonder. I had never fucked a girl out of sheer desire. It had always been with the nagging reminder in my brain, wondering if she was suitable to associate with... to marry. Did that matter any more, marrying for social position? Now that my name and inheritance and reputation had all been drug through the mud?

"Is it true you shagged the She-Weasel?" I asked Blaise curiously, wondering how far his sexual liberalism had gone.

Blaise proceeded to pop a grape into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue sensually. "A gentleman never screws and tells," he admonished me, winking devilishly.

I can't hold back a small smirk. "You, Blaise Zabini, are no gentleman."

Blaise nodded in agreement, and smiled joyfully. "You're only young once Draco. The time is ripe, the girls are hot, and that's all the excuses I need."

I smiled, but didn't reply. I might loosen my standards a little this year, in the interest of exploration, but I'd be damned if I was going to jump on the Blaise bandwagon with this "Fuck a Gryffindor" campaign. Things weren't so desperate as that, after all.

* * *

**Draco POV**

Stomach full, and feeling very content, I passed up offers from my classmates to conjoin in the Slytherin Common Room for a night of fire whiskey and general celebration. Maybe once I would have been the center of attention, watching over the proceedings with an arrogant enjoyment, but now, the prospect of partying and drowning out my woes in spirits held less appeal.

I was tired and looking forward to some isolation.

As always, I ducked my head on the way to the dorm, cursing whatever moron had the bright idea to put the macabre mural of war casualties outside the Head's Dorm. Bitterly, I guessed McGonagall had commissioned the project. I wondered if it was an elaborate ruse to make me feel guilty, perhaps guilty enough to reform my 'Death Eater ways'.

I levied my wand at the tapestry, muttering the password before stepping through the narrow entrance. As I ducked through and lifted my head, my eyebrows arched in confusion.

The dorm was a complete wreck, ransacked and ruined. A split moment of bemusement plagued me before a hot flash of anger whipped through me.

Fucking punks! I'd bet Merlin's beard that one of those bloody Gryffindor's were behind it! So much for forgiveness, and a "New Start." Lousy dung eating slugs! They'd screwed with the wrong Slytherin, I would make sure they knew that.

I was ready to storm up to the Gryffindor tower and deduct so many points Potter would have to resurrect and defeat Voldemort again to give Gryffindor a chance at the House Cup, when I heard a slight shuffling behind a toppled arm chair.

Cautiously, I protruded my wand from the pockets of my robe, holding it in front of me as I stepped around the chair.

I was ready to lobby a well-aimed curse when I recognized Granger's form crumpled across the hearth rug, broken books littered around her, the worn pages decapitated and spread about the floor. Her face was pressed into the rug, hidden by a matted mane of hair, her fist gripping her wand so tight, the bone whites of her knuckles shined pallid through her stretched skin.

The first thoughts to enter my head weren't "filthy mudblood" or "stupid Gryffindor cow". Something infinitely more painful coursed through me as an unfamiliar lump strangled my throat with unexpected emotion.

The paralyzing emotions were reeling me back to thoughts I had carefully hidden in the recesses of my conscious. Her still form, sprawled among the wreckage unveiled tender, bleeding pieces of myself, pain I hadn't acknowledged for so long. Fuck.

Call it a 6th sense, or intuition, but Granger must have sensed my presence as she shifted, her voluminous hair falling back as she raised her face to inspect me. Her cheeks were red and imprinted with the pattern of the rug, face shimmering with the soft veneer of dried tears. Her eyes met mine slowly, and I expected to find anger, fear, or some mixture, but instead found a bone chilling exhaustion behind those foggy amber pools. Granger's expression displayed nothing but defeat.

I grappled for control of my composure, unable to put words to my question. What had happened? Why did the sight of her defeated posture strike such a powerful chord within me? Why was the image of her dejected brokenness resurfacing my own memories? Why was I relating to her filth? She was nothing like me; she was a galaxy apart, yet like a flood, I felt a tidal wave of personal grief.

"What in Merlin's name happened Granger?" I was considerably pleased by the control in my voice. Her answer was a strangled sob.

What the fuck? She was crying? I watched uncomfortably as the mudblood broke down into a new round of tears, pushing herself into a sitting position as she sobbed into her kneecaps, indifferent to my presence.

"What happened?" I demanded again, getting angrier as she ignored my question entirely.

I began to realize her blubbering sobs were coherent words. She was repeating over and over again, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Completely out of my element, I stepped away from her, glancing around the room to see if a closer inspection would give me more conclusive clues.

As I peered around at the wreckage, I heard the Gryffindor sniffle piteously from the floor. "I'll fix it," she said, as if it were a conviction to herself.

I turned to face her, anxiety gripping me as I watched the hysterical witch lift her wand.

"Reparo," she muttered before I could stop her. Instead of fixing the damage however, the spell threw everything in the room outwards, including myself. I landed against the far wall with a sickening thud, using my arms to shield my face from the many books pummeling into my chest and legs.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry... REPARO!" Granger sobbed, and I felt a tug in my gut as my body was slammed into the cabinets and then slid violently across the floor.

Fucking cow! What was wrong with the stupid bint?! My stomach rolled uneasily from the impact, my head throbbing with the beginnings of a migraine. I could feel the points of impact leaving sore patches which would develop into bruises by morning.

"Stop Granger, or I swear I'll hex the living daylights out of you!" I doubled over, trying to stand despite the throbbing pain in my lower back.

I glanced up and saw Granger's quivering lip. "I'm sorry, I just... I can do it, I can fix it."

I reached to grab my wand to disarm her but was too slow.

"Reparo!"

The force of her incantation left my body limp as I hit the wooden bookshelf. The bloody bitch! I was going to _strangle_ the ignorant troll! I grabbed my wand and without thinking, aimed it at the shivering witch.

"REDUCTO!" My anger inflamed the strength of the hex as it spiraled towards her wand and splintered the wooden length into a hundred pieces. From the pained wail that erupted from the mudblood's mouth however, her wand wasn't the only thing the hex hit. Granger cradled her wand hand to her chest, a pained sob shaking her torso as she hunched around her injured arm.

Shit. Why hadn't I used Expelliarmus, or Accio? My rage from being tossed around by the stupid mudblood had triggered me to react recklessly. I stood with great difficulty, sauntering over to the mudblood, a mixture of anger, and guilt possessing my thoughts.

"Get up Granger, stop being a fucking pathetic pansy." It wasn't a question, it was a command.

Granger shook her head insistently. "I fuck up everything, I can't do anything right."

I sneered in disgust. Who did the witch think I was? "I'm not a fucking Hufflepuff, Granger. I don't give a rat's ass about your goddamned feelings. Get your ass off the floor and explain to me why in Merlin's name I've come back to see my dorm utterly trashed or I'm going to get McGonagall myself and let the old bat deal with this mess."

The threat of the Headmistress' presence seemed to sober the witch because she let out a few quaking breaths before rising to her feet, her head ducked against her chin and her left arm supporting her right hand against her waist.

"I want answers now Granger. I'm tired of your secrecy bullshit. Our shared quarters are for business. Take your worthless feelings and let your Gryffindor possy deal with them. Or better yet, share them with your revolting red headed boyfriend."

My jab silenced her as her eyes flashed up to meet mine in warning. "That's enough Malfoy. Why do you have to be such a foul rotten git all the time?"

I recognized her weakness, and with great satisfaction, exploited it. "Oh, have I hit a nerve? I'm sorry, was it a secret that you and the blood-traitor savage have been tumbling about Hogwart's grounds like a couple of randy trolls?"

She was forced to use her non-dominant hand, seeing as the right one was injured, and I watched her left arm swing at me awkwardly, her open faced palm seeking purchase against my cheek.

I caught her wrist with my long fingers, smirking as she attempted to tug back her arm. She'd gotten away with slapping me once, but my reflexes had much improved from practicing as a Seeker. I forced her arm behind her back until she gasped in pain.

Yanking aside her bushy locks, I whispered into her ear, "The likes of you will never raise a hand against someone like me. Understand mudblood?" I punctuated my question by bending her arm a little further, eliciting a squeak of protest from the entrapped witch.

"You're a slimy ferret, Malfoy, and you'll end up just like your worthless father." Granger's voice was laced with venom despite my position of power over her.

I shoved her to the ground roughly, letting go of her arm. "You should be careful what you let out of your filthy mouth, Granger. Potty and the Weasel aren't here to protect you; I could make your life extremely uncomfortable. Do I need to remind you, you're missing a wand at the moment?"

She pushed back into a kneeling position, spitting at my feet. "Self righteous bastard. You're just a coward, you know that? You bully people to feel big, but all you are is lowly scum."

I stared in disbelief at the wad of spit that slid down the side of my leather shoe. I kicked it off in disgust as Granger's words incited a stronger rage within me.

"You want to talk about cowardice? At least I'd have the guts to stop that disgusting prick Weasley from molesting me. Do you even have a spine, Granger? Or are you so unattractive and desperate, that you'll let anything with 2 legs into your knickers, no matter how unsavory?" I watched as the witch's eyes brimmed with moisture. Stupid bitch. Didn't she know she was playing a game far out of her league?

My father's constant criticism had sharpened my wit and ability to slice down others to size verbally. I could wield insults like an iron sword, and Granger was trying to block me with one made of wood. Silly cow.

"You're a sack of shit, Malfoy. I messed up the dorm, I'll find a way to fix it in the morning. Are you happy? Just fuck off."

I grinned in satisfaction. Cursing was the last resort of a witch with no vocabulary. I was curious why the usually collected witch had demolished our dorm, and why she'd been reduced to such a pathetic excuse for a witch, but I was too tired to investigate further. Considering this confrontation a victory, I climbed up the stairs to my door, and then sunk into bed.

As I fell into slumber, I felt the aching soreness of my body and forming bruises, and resolved to pay Granger back in full eventually. But for now, I needed sleep.

* * *

A/N: Can I just say how much I enjoy writing Blaise's character? He's so blunt, and raw and honest about who he is and what he wants. He's a lot of fun to write interacting with other characters; hopefully I can get him into some scenes with people other than Draco soon.

Draco is still a slimy git in this chapter. Though, his discussion with Blaise has planted the seed for "broadening his horizons", but it's in the early stages. In this chapter, he's also confused by his conflicting reactions to Hermione. On one hand, he's always resented her for being "beneath" him in blood status, but simultaneously out competing him in classes. On the other hand, he's unexpectedly distressed when he thinks she's been hurt. At this point, that's not so much out of his concern for her actual person, as it is a product of his past. Lucius' abuse of Draco's mother, Narcissa was really traumatic for him, so anything that reminds him of that is liable to trigger some of those feelings of guilt for not intervening, and anger at his father. But it also helps that he sees Hermione as a human being paralleled against his mother, and not only a mudblood who is "beneath" him, and deserving of abuse, as he'd viewed house elves and such. It's a step in the right direction, albiet a small one.

Anywhoo... I'd love feedback! And/or corrections, criticism, etc! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for reading, and expect more to be up shortly!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

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**Chapter 13: A Tiger's Stripes**

**Hermione POV**

Morning sunlight filtered between my eyelashes as I groaned wearily, my toes reaching for the edge of the bed as I slid my legs over the side. Peering around my room with the dawn glow casting a pale blue haze on my surroundings, I realized it must be early morning. I'd succumbed to a fitful sleep, resting in short hour long bursts before waking up to cold chills.

I realized what had awoken me as Crookshanks rubbed his feline body across the side of my neck, purring like a motor. I rubbed under his chin absentmindedly, bracing myself for the day.

Stepping out of bed, I flinched at the pain in my hand, glancing down to see the yellow/purple bruises that were darkening around my knuckles. The tender flesh was swollen around my usually slender digits and stung as I flexed once or twice. Malfoy, the rotten git.

Rummaging through my bag, I found the advertisement for the newly renovated Ollivanders. So many people had lost wands during the war, Ollivander had to come up with a new system for outfitting people with new wands. Since he had too much business to personally make appointments for each and every individual, Ollivander spent the summer developing new methods.

Walk in appointments were reserved for first years who'd never had a wand before and the older audiences could now order a wand via owl post. Quickly, I filled in the paper describing the type and specifications of my previous wand. Once this was done, I folded the sheet and slipped it into an envelope. I then plucked a few of my hairs, wincing at the sensation, before placing them in the envelope. Just to be safe, I swept the remnants of my wand in as well..

Looking over the pricing, my stomach dropped when I saw the cost. 10 galleons? I'd only paid 7 for my first wand, and I didn't even get an appointment this time!

I opened my purse and was disappointed to see a mere few galleons and sickles in the pocket, remnants of my school shopping. The Ministry had awarded Harry, Ron, and I with generous awards for our role in the war effort. I'd saved a portion of it, but had donated the majority to help war victims recover, to rebuild Hogwarts, and to aid the S.P.E.W. movement. What I had kept was in my Gringotts bank account, and there was no way of accessing those funds.

Angrily, I marched out of my dorm, envelope in hand as I ascended the staircase, knocking violently on Malfoy's door.

It was several moments later when the door swung open and a very tired, brooding Malfoy filled the space, glaring down at me. If looks could kill, I'd be a corpse judging by Malfoy's expression.

"Granger," he spat venomously. "There had better be a damn good reason why you've woken me up at the bloody crack of dawn."

I swallowed, feeling less righteous under Malfoy's scrutinizing and penetrating glare. "Yes, well… you owe me 10 galleons for breaking my wand! You may have enough money in your trust fund to do whatever well the hell you want, but some of us don't have that luxury."

A strong impression of indignation passed acrossed his face. "Are you shitting me, Granger? You have got to be kidding me!"

I stood firm, my lips pursed in a strong line, refusing to back down or lose eye contact despite the fact that the hard edge in those steel eyes made me want to melt into the floor.

His hands moved to the hem of his T-shirt, and before I realized what was going on, he'd stripped it over his abdomen and was tugging it over his mop of disheveled white blond locks.

What in Merlin's name? I felt a deep blush creep up my neck to my face. "What do you think you're doing?" The entire scene was so comical and terrifying, I had to balance myself between feeling entirely terrified, and wanted to fall onto the floor in hysterics.

If someone had told me yesterday I'd be standing in my pyjamas staring at a half naked Draco Malfoy, I'd have sent them to St. Mungo's for a mental evaluation… but here I was. I was trying to focus on how I could force Malfoy to pay for the damage to my wand, and not on the exceptional definition of his abs and shoulders.

I knew Malfoy was considered attractive, it wasn't exactly a secret, but before now, I'd always been able to hide his physical attractiveness behind the ugliness of his character. That was easier said than done staring at his shirtless chest a few feet away from me.

"I think we're even," Malfoy spat at me, which thankfully jogged me back into focus. I realized the reason he'd unceremoniously stripped as my eyes wandered across his chest.

Dark blotches spotted the smooth ivory of his skin, the paleness of his complexion accentuating the color of his bruises.

Even though he was a slimy ferret, the sight left a guilty pit in the bottom of my stomach. Yes, he was a bonafide arse-hole, but I hadn't intentionally tried to hurt him.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, feeling extremely uncomfortable despite the fact that I knew Malfoy had never repented any of his actions against Harry, Ron, and I. I didn't know why I was bothering to feel guilty; he certainly deserved it.

"Spare me your bullshit Granger. I don't want your useless apologies, just stay the fuck away from me. And if you EVER touch me again…" he stepped closer and I scrambled back, nearly losing my footing on the staircase. "You'll wish you were never born."

I was suddenly very aware of the fact that Malfoy was holding a wand, and I was wandless. He could literally kill me at this instant, and no one would even know about it. It might be days before one of my friends came looking for me.

My breathing was hard and I wanted nothing more than to flee down the stairs and run back into my room, but I couldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction. He seemed to find some vindication in my terror because he lowered his wand and returned into his room, slamming the door loudly to jar my nerves.

I stood at the head of the stairs for a few minutes, slightly rattled, and more than a little pissed off. Malfoy was just a moronic brute trying to use his size to intimidate me. If I had my wand, I'd cut him down to size before he could mutter "Protego."

I stalked down the stairs and stopped in front of the tapestry, on my way to find Harry. I figured I could borrow the money from him until I found a way to deal with Malfoy. Staring at the exit, the unhappy realization found me.

I didn't have a wand. There was no way for me to leave the dorm. Panicked, I banged my fist against the brick wall, howling when I realized I'd forgotten and used my right hand. Nursing the throbbing limb, I kicked the wall, yelling the password angrily. "Ignacio, Ignacio, for Merlin's sake, IGNACIO!"

The tapestry didn't budge, and I blew my bangs out of my face, exasperated. Just peachy. I didn't have it in me to ask Malfoy to let me out; the thought was humiliating. Instead, I turned over one of the arm chairs and sat down, resigned to wait for Malfoy.

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**Hermione POV**

I'd nodded off when Malfoy's harsh steps on the stair awoke me. I stepped out of the chair, feeling awkward as Malfoy stepped into the room. If he was surprised to see me, his marble features gave nothing away.

He didn't acknowledge my presence as he used his wand to open the tapestry and step through. I quickly followed suit, the winding threads already closing as I jumped through and landed a bit shakily.

Malfoy followed the path past the portraits of war victims, but I turned around the corner to take a longer route.

"Hermione! Where've you been?" Harry asked, spotting me as I passed the library. I joined him at a short oak table, sighing deeply.

"Long story… you wouldn't be able to loan me 10 galleons, would you?" I tried to keep my voice casual and nonchalant.

Harry's brow rose at the odd request. "Sure, but do you mind if I ask why?"

I paused, wrestling with the phrasing. "I broke my wand and need to order a replacement through the mail with Olivander's."

"Oh Hermione, that's awful!" Harry reached across the table and gripped my hand in consolation. "How'd it happen?"

I cursed internally. I'd hoped he wouldn't interrogate me over the specifics, but like any concerned friend, Harry wanted to hear everything.

I shrugged non-commitally. "Just an accident, but it's really broken. It has to be replaced."

Harry chose this moment to give me a once over, and I watched as his eyes narrowed in on my unusual posture. I'd carefully propped my right arm up so my hurt hand didn't have to support any pressure.

It was times like this I wished Harry wasn't quite so intuitive. I wished he was a little bit more like Ron, clueless and happy.

"You got in a fight! What's the matter with your hand?" Harry exclaimed, his voice carrying through the corner of the library. I hushed him quickly, the back of my neck prickling as I felt curious eyes all around us focusing in on our conversation.

"You should see the other guy," I answered, the humor in my voice masking my anger.

Harry's eyes were suspicious slits. "It was Malfoy, wasn't it?"

I scowled, and for a few moments, I considered lying, but my resolve wavered, and I nodded miserably.

I expected Harry to look angry, but I was surprised by the disappointment in his expression. I watched a little bit of the hope leave his eyes.

And I understood that sensation. After the war, we'd all harbored those naive ideas that everything could be different; that the world was a better place; that the sacrifice of our loved ones hadn't been in vain.

But it was an idealistic illusion. Some things couldn't change. 3,000 people dead, and Malfoy still called me a mudblood. 3,000 people dead and Slytherins couldn't get along with Gryffindors. 3,000 dead, and what was it for?

"Malfoy hasn't changed." The statement came from Harry, and even though it wasn't a question, I knew he was waiting for my validation.

I felt that sliver of hope extinguish in my conscious. "Some people never will." The word _never_ felt like lead on my tongue, it felt like a trap, a box, a gag. It stifled the ambitions and dreams and ideas. It shot an arrow through my balloon of optimism.

Because Harry was the ever-optimist, because delusion was his life blood, he reached over the table again and squeezed my hand. "Maybe there's still time."

And I knew he said _time_ but meant_ hope_, and because he was like a brother to me, I didn't contradict him. I nodded in silence, and made small talk. Even though I knew in my heart of hearts that people like Malfoy could never change, could never repent, it was Harry's hope that kept our lives afloat.

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A/N: Short filler chapter. It was too long to be the introduction to a more meaningful chapter so I decided to post it as is. Just some more character development stuff. A lot of Dramione have all of Hermione's friends hate Draco. While this is a totally rational response from Ron, I've always thought Harry might have more hope for Malfoy than anybody. In HBP, Harry was the one accusing Draco of being a Death Eater, and he hated him as much as Ron did, but I feel like after Harry was proven wrong about Snape being evil, he might have been humbled. Snape's martyrdom proved to Harry that Slytherin's can have good in them. This combined with the fact that Draco did kind of save Harry's life in DH, I think would result in Harry's optimism towards Draco, optimism that he could change. Hermione's been hardened by the war, and at this point, I think is more pessimistic about her outlook towards Malfoy. She doesn't think he's a murderer, but she thinks he'll always be an arrogant, selfish, self-absorbed jerk basically.

So yeah, leave reviews! And THANK YOU for sticking with this story this far! :) :) :)


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I own nothing (seriously, poor college student, lol, I haven't a penny to my name). JK Rowling retains ownership of all her lovely characters and world building, I am just a privileged guest to share my inspiration based on her work.

Warning: May contain explicit language, sexual references, and violence

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**Chapter 14**

**Draco POV**

It was a strange reality, to wander around campus with so few friendly faces. The whispers and glares in the halls didn't upset me as I hid behind a curtain of apathy, but I felt a pang of longing for companionship.

I wasn't the sentimental sort, but I missed Crabbe and Goyle's presence at Hogwarts. The death and incarceration of my closest friends had disoriented my social awareness. For the first time, I was forced to acknowledge that I may have been notorious student at Hogwarts, but certainly not the most popular.

For all my wealth and social advantage, in a sea of my peers, I had very few allies. I had polarized myself against the other houses, though none as much as Gryffindor. Once Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff had banded together in support of Diggory for Triwizard Champion, ostracizing the pretentious Gryffindors, but those days were past.

Post war, everyone was falling over their feet in gratitude to Harry Potter, indebted to him for ending the worst war in wizarding memory. Everyone wanted to be a bloody Gryffindor, to be aligned with the "Golden Trio."

Even fellow Slytherins shied from associating with my once noble house. They were afraid of being associated with the atrocity of war, so they sat with their friends from other houses, and tried not to acknowledge people like me.

My pride was too strong to ever let it show, but it hurt to have members of my own house turn away from me. I felt very much an outcast.

I tracked down Blaise, my only genuine companion, by the Quidditch pitch.

"What's the ruckus?" I asked Blaise, seeing a crowd forming around the equipment room.

"Team Captains are up; what happened to you leading this season, Malfoy? They've listed Andrew fucking Vaisey, the massive moron, as our captain this year."

The news floored me. Quidditch was one of the few novelties I'd anticipated returning to at Hogwarts. I didn't have the record to go professional, so this year would likely be my last time on the field. With all of my companions from Hogwarts gone, I'd planned to immerse myself in the sport this year, and finally give the Gryffindors a run for their money.

Without an answer, I pushed past Zabini, eager to see the evidence for myself. I toppled a few Hufflepuffs in the struggle before reaching the front of the line. Just as Zabini'd said. Andrew Vaisey- Chaser and Slytherin Team Captain.

Son of a bitch.

I filtered out of the crowd, feeling like I'd just been punched in the gut. I caught up with Blaise, struggling to keep my expression placid. All around me, I could hear Gryffindor's and Hufflepuffs celebrating the news.

"Malfoy's not playing this year?"

"Hell yes! The Quidditch Cup is in the bag!"

I grabbed Blaise's shoulder and turned him from the group. "What the fuck is going on? Who in their right mind would nominate Vaisey?" The prospect of such a dull witted dunderhead representing MY team made me nauseous.

Blaise shrugged. "The Headmistress chooses captains. Maybe McGonagall's got it in for the Slytherins."

The thought made me seethe. If that kooky old bat had meddled with the nominations just to make sure Slytherin would lose, she'd have a lot more to worry about this year with me as Head Boy. I'd make life hell for every Gryffindor in my sight.

I turned quickly, storming off towards the castle to confront the crooked hag.

"Malfoy, where are you going?" Blaise's voice travelled across the lawn to meet me. I didn't dignify his query with a response.

"Don't do anything stupid Malfoy - if you get expelled, this year will be fucking rubbish."

I smirked but continued my journey into the castle.

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**Hermione POV**

Harry quickly healed my hand. It was still sore, but the swelling went down and the tie dye bruises faded considerably.

We made small talk for a while but my heart wasn't into it. He asked me what job I wanted after we graduated, and I didn't have an answer. Once I would've wanted to pursue S.P.E.W. in the political arena, but since the end of the war, S.P.E.W. had gotten some recognition from big businesses and house elves were well on the way to being unionized.

I felt lost, unattached and unsure about the future.

"Harry, do you ever wonder what's important? What we do now? It feels like everything we've done led up to defeating Voldemort. And now… I feel lost."

Harry was staring slightly above me, his eyebrows curled into a squint. "There will always be evil in the world, Hermione. You can only keep evil at bay, never really eradicate it. So I guess, we keep fighting. That's all we can do."

A lump was choking my throat as I felt the hot stinging of my eyes and that uncomfortable pressure between my temples. "What happens if I don't feel like fighting anymore?"

Harry's eyes slowly travelled to mine, and I was suddenly overcome by the understanding I found there. He was 17 but looked so much older. I was 17 and felt so much older.

Harry didn't have a response. He pulled me into one of his hugs, those hugs that melted me apart. They didn't ask for anything, they weren't a stepping stone to something more. He was my best friend, my adopted brother and it unmade me to know I would never have to disguise myself for Harry to love me unconditionally.

Neither of us had siblings like Ron did. We were only, and lonely, children. It made our relationship that much more vital.

"When you can't fight anymore, your friends will fight for you." Harry's voice settled my unquiet disturbance as I squeezed him a little tighter.

I didn't know how to say thank you and have it express what I meant. I wanted to thank Harry for just understanding me, for not judging my weakness, for continuing to be my friend no matter what. I loved Ron too, but Ron's love came at a price, it was conditional. Harry and I just existed.

"I feel like a bite to eat, you wanna go raid the kitchens for a snack?" Harry asked, and I was surprised to realize I did.

"That sounds great."

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**Hermione POV**

We left the eager ears around us to travel down the corridors to the kitchens.

Out of earshot, Harry started up the conversation.

"Hermione, I can tell something is up with you. What's going on? Is it Malfoy? If he's being really awful, McGonagall will have to do something. She can't make you endure his idiocy all year long."

I shook my head. Malfoy was an annoyance, but I honestly didn't think about him that much. There was so much else I wanted to tell Harry, none of which he would understand.

My voice lacked the conviction I wanted. "It's Ron… Harry, I just don't know anymore. We bicker all the time and I don't know how much more of it I can stand."

I could have said a million things. I don't love Ron. It's too soon. But the words didn't come.

Harry was silent for a few moments before replying pensively. "He loves you a lot. I know it's difficult, we're all struggling to cope. But I know he loves you a lot."

Harry said it like it should be enough, as though Ron's affection solved the problem, but it didn't. It just strengthened my sense of obligation. I knew I should love Ron. I knew it was ungrateful, but I didn't want Ron's love. I wanted things I couldn't have.

"What if I don't feel the same?" It took all the nerve I had to voice this question aloud. Harry looked a little astounded.

Harry might've understood my feelings about the war, and about recovery, but he didn't understand my heart. "I don't understand Hermione. You've been in love with Ron for most of you life. What's changed?"

The lump blocked my airway. I wanted to lay it all out, to spill over like a hot kettle, to tell Harry everything. Common sense bit my tongue back as I turned my face away from his view. "I've changed, Harry. You have, Ron has. The whole bloody world's changed. War changes everything."

He didn't have a response.

****"I've just realized I'm not hungry. I'll see you at supper." I left Harry in the hall, ignoring his protest at my sudden departure. I was wrong to talk about Ron with Harry. He was both of our best friend, and I understood now that he couldn't be biased either way. I would have to come up with my own solution to deal with Ron.

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A/N: Apologies for the long wait! I've been packing and moving to the university, so it's been hectic getting everything together. Things have settled down so I'll be posting more frequently.

Draco's part in this chapter is mostly filler, and just elaborates a little bit on his status as a pariah on campus. The other important development in this chapter is the relationship between Harry and Hermione. Even though it's platonic, I've always thought their friendship was one of the strongest relationships in the series. Ron has been irrational and bailed on his friends before, but Hermione and Harry have always been loyal to their friendship.

So I think I'm justified in saying that Harry's opinion is extremely important to Hermione. He's her only best friend (platonic one at least) and her only makeshift sibling. And even though Harry cares about Hermione, I think Harry is particularly blind when it comes to seeing Ron's faults. So he doesn't really understand where Hermione is coming from when she says she doesn't love Ron. Just food for thought. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW and thank you for sticking with this story 3


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